Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
by Surplus Imagination
Summary: What does anyone see when staring at themselves in the mirror? Mostly, they see only what they've been looking for. Sometimes it takes another reflection to learn the truth. Unabashed Caryl.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer :**__The Walking Dead, Daryl, Carol and all the other characters on the show (and the other characters) are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. Sadly, I do not own these characters. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_**AN: This one is shamelessly Carly. Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Enjoy!**_

"Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the oldest one of all?"

Carol stared into the unflattering mirror of the prison bathroom, fingering her silver-gray hair. Dim, filtered light illuminated patches of the room from it's high position on the walls. Outside, the sky was as gloomy as her mood. At least the dim light helped hide her crow's feet.

"Hershel is, dumb-ass. Or maybe a couple of those crones from Woodbury."

Carol spun at the sound of the gravely tenor. Sure enough, there was Daryl leaning, hip-shod, against the open doorway. The sight of his dirty, smirking face scratched a claw of irritation down the length of her spine. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"This is the women's bathroom, Daryl. You aren't welcome," Carol snapped, flicking her chin at him. Damned if the man didn't smirk even more.

"That's what you think," the man drawled as he studied her features. "Whatcha doin in here?"

Carol huffed and turned back to the sink to wash her hands. Dipping a bowl of water from the rain barrel, she poured it into the stoppered sink. Little mosquito larvae wiggled frantically in their new home. Carol huffed in annoyance and reached for a tiny goldfish net hanging on the wall.

One of the old women from Woodbury had been a plumber's wife. The elderly spitfire had designed a catch system to harvest rainfall and pipe it directly from the roof into the bathrooms. She had even rigged up one of the toilets for flushing. It was amazing, really, the comfort of a functional bathroom. The only problem with the setup was that the water tended to draw pests.

Using the net, Carol fished out the larvae and tapped them into a ready waste can. "It's a bathroom, Daryl. What do you think I'm doing in here? Knitting?" She plunged her hands into the water and scrubbed. From over her shoulder, a sliver of soap appeared and splashed into the water. Carol grudgingly snagged the soap and used it on her grimy fingers. The water quickly clouded.

"You're welcome," Daryl offered, obviously fishing for a thank you. Carol ignored him as she cleaned under her nails.. When she finished, she took the soap and tossed it back over her shoulder without looking.

"You need that more that I do," Carol grouched as she drained the sink and refilled it with fresh water. "When's the last time you took a bath?" A second fishing of mosquito larvae finished with the removal of a tiny tadpole. Carol didn't have the heart kill the little creature, so she tossed it back in the rain barrel for someone else to deal with. Behind her, Daryl gave a good snort.

"Jumped in the creek not two days ago. Swam around for a long time. That count?"

Carol refused to turn around. "Not when you smell like a pond," she threw over her shoulder as she scooped the now clear water and proceeded to wet her face and hair. Using a tiny bottle of shampoo from her pocket, Carol placed a single, pearly drop on her palm. She carefully closed the bottle before spreading the shampoo between both palms.

"Pond's a good smell. Better than B.O."

"Not from where I'm standing," Carol said with her eyes closed, scrubbing her head. Truth be told, she was lying. The outdoors always smelled good on Daryl, damn him.

Another amused snort made her clench her teeth as she finished rinsing, looking around for a hand towel. Of course, it wasn't there. Nobody replaced the towels except her and she hadn't gotten around to it today. As if my magic, a towel was laid on her shoulder. It was full of holes and once sported a nice aqua color. It was tattered and a worn, but functional just the same. Much like it's donor.

"Thanks," she gritted out, grudgingly.

Carol toweled her short hair vigorously and mopped off the drips down her neck. When she was done, she looked back in the mirror. Static electricity had taken over her locks making every strand strain outwards like the head of a dandelion. Just great. Behind her, Daryl snickered openly.

Slamming her hands down of the sink edge, Carol spun and bore down on Daryl. The infuriating man was still leaning indolently against the open door, arms crossed over his chest. He puffed out his cheeks and blew at her hair. Carol was not amused.

Without actually touching him, Carol jabbed at him with a pointed finger. "Think that's funny, do you? Am I providing enough entertainment for you, or do you need some other women in the _women's_ bathroom!"

Just then Glenn rushed into the room, hands already unbuckling his pants. "Whoa," he exclaimed, sliding to a stop. "Am I interrupting something?" Glen quickly let go of his zipper and scanned the scene. Then a look of panic crossed his face. "Scratch that. I don't care. I'll give you to the count of three and I'm heading over to that toilet," he said, pointing. "The working one _without_ a door and.. well… it will be unpleasant." Glenn gave them a strained look. "Very unpleasant."

Daryl just pushed himself off the doorway and hooked Carol's sleeve, tugging a little. "I was just trying to tell you that you were in the men's bathroom, dumb-ass," he grinned.

With a frustrated groan, Carol knocked Daryl's hand away and stormed out, leaving both men staring.

"What's wrong with Carol?" Glen asked, already moving toward the toilet. Without a hint of modesty, the man started yanking down his pants as he went. "Do you think she needs help?"

"I got this," Daryl said pointed not looking at Glen. "You just worry about not shittin' your pants."

* * *

Carol moved with purpose. She wanted out. All the way out. No more 'gray' for her today. No gray walls. No gray thoughts. No gray hair.

She stormed down the hallway.

She stomped her way past both C Block and D Block, startling Judith into a howl.

She barreled through the kitchen, nearly knocking over poor old Evelyn, who was trying to, not-so-discreetly, find a snack between meals.

Without slowing a step, Carol snagged up an old plastic pickle bucket, nimbly side-stepped Hershel crutching his way in from the yard and practically flew down the steps toward the outside access.

She screeched out to Maggie on watch, that she was picking berries for dinner.

She didn't even completely undo the laced wire hole in the fence before squeezing through, although she did pause long enough to lace it back up.

Task finished, Carol snatched up the bucket, pulled her knife out of her belt just in case, and hightailed it into the woods, ignoring Rick calling her back.

All she wanted was to be alone. Was that too much to ask?

No people.

No demands.

No being in the wrong bathroom.

No mirrors.

In Carol's wake, just about everyone in the prison was ablaze with worry and curiosity. Judith wouldn't stop crying in Beth's arms. Evelyn was also in tears. Seemed that the old girl thought Carol had turned walker and was coming after her. Hershel was hard pressed to calm the woman down. Rick stomped in demanding that someone tell him what set Carol off. Daryl took in the scene silently and headed out the door.

"Daryl," Maggie called from the guard tower. "Something's upset Carol. She went out the back fence."

"On it," Daryl replied, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "I'll bring her back," he promised, calling up to the tower.

"I always do," Daryl muttered to himself, as he loped off into the woods.

_Tbc…_

_**AN: What can I say? I've been missing Carol writing Dixon Demolition. Needed a little Caryl for some inner smile. And this is all pretty new for me. I've never written a romance. I hope you like it. I hope you drop me a line and let me know.**_

_**Thanks for reading! **_

_**Surplus Imagination**_


	2. Blackberry Patch

_**Disclaimer :**__The Walking Dead, Daryl, Carol and all the other characters on the show (and the other characters) are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. Sadly, I do not own these characters. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_AN: Still definitely all Carly, set between Seasons 3 & 4. _

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

**Blackberry Patch**

Daryl found Carol mutilating a patch of early blackberries in the open field by the creek. For May, the blackberries and dewberries were coming in pretty thick. It had been an unseasonably hot spring. Daryl scanned the clearing for threats and then settled back against a tree to watch, content to let Carol work off whatever was bothering her.

In time, Carol's frantic berry picking slowed. All around her, destruction showed in upturned roots and trampled vines. Daryl didn't step in until it became apparent that Carol had tears rolling down her cheeks.

"What the hell you cryin' about?" Daryl asked gruffly as he moved forward. He picked up the impressively filled berry bucket and gave it an assessing shake. "These look good. Is it too much to hope for pie?"

Carol gave a shaky laugh, running both her hands through her newly puffy hair. "You have a one track mind, don't you," Carol mused ruefully. Her voice was thick with held back tears. She wondered if Daryl would make fun of her if she blew her nose on her own shirt.

"I like to think I'm more complicated than that," Daryl replied with a smirk. He pulled out the red rag perpetually dangling from his back pocket, gave it an inspecting sniff, then passed it to Carol unasked. "I'm also hoping for blackberry hoe cakes come morning."

Carol eyed the rag for a long moment before taking it. Turning her head politely, she blew her nose. The rag smelled like gun oil and pine sap. She folded the cloth and blew again.

"Course, I'd not say no to a blackberry cobbler," Daryl continued. He set the bucket back down and shoved his hands into his pockets. They were so worn that his fingertips showed through the bottom on one side. "We still got sugar?"

"A little." Carol handed back the red rag making a mental note to wash it soon. "Maybe enough." Carol placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you," she said, sincerely.

Daryl nodded as he stuffed the rag back in his pocket. Suddenly shy, he looked away and quickly decided to help with the picking. He moved to a fresh section and started stripping berries with both hands.

"You done havin' a conniption?" Daryl asked, dropping berries in the bucket between them.

Carol nodded slowly, looking around. The gloomy day was brightened to a fine spring afternoon. The clouds rolled back revealing blue skies. Just like that, Carol's bad mood began to fade. She looked at Daryl, hands deep in the bushes. He kept casting sidelong glances her direction.

"It's my birthday," Carol finally said with a huff. "I'm not taking it very well."

"Ya'd rather be dead?" Daryl asked, honestly. He paused to stuff a handful of berries in his mouth.

"No, genius. I'd rather not be so old," Carol retorted with irritation. She attempted to move out of her berry vine destruction, but found herself mired. Sharp brambles poked through her clothes and scratched her skin.

"Ya not old." Daryl crammed another handful in his mouth. "Not near old," he said between chews.

"The mirror says otherwise," Carol said annoyed, looking down. "You must need glasses." She tried and failed to pull a foot free. The vines tightened with each movement digging into her flesh. Feeling a little trapped, Carol started pulling on them frantically.

"Stop."

And Carol did. Sun-leathered hands stilled her movements and grasped the vines. Carol blew hard as Daryl cut her free with his knife. Once cleared, he practically yanked her arm out of the socket until she was out of the brier patch.

"If you're done tearing that part up, maybe it'll grow back and give us some more berries." Daryl didn't let go of her arm as he pulled her free. Being careful not to cut her with his knife, Daryl flipped Carol's hands over and inspected the deep scratches.

Carol shifted uncomfortably. For all her flirty teasing, she had a problem with the intimacy of Daryl's hands on hers.

"Hold still," he instructed in a low voice. Using the knife and his thumb, Daryl carefully plucked a few embedded thorns and flicked them away. Sheathing his knife, he ran calloused fingers over her palms testing for unseen stickers.

"It's fine, Daryl," Carol said uncomfortably. "Really."

"Knew it was your birthday. That's why I hoped for pie." When Carol's hands started twitching, Daryl dropped them and took a step back. "You still got vines wrapped 'round your pants," he gestured feebly. "Sit 'cha ass down and I'll get 'em off."

"You'll cut your hands," she protested. "Really, it's all right."

With that, Carol bent down and attempted pull the vines free herself. She sniffled a little with her still runny nose. Rather than ask for the red rag back, Carol wiped her nose on the back of her hand and lost her balance. She just about toppled over when a pair of rough hands yanked her back upright.

"Stop it. Just sit."

Carol gaped up to Daryl's concerned and frustrated face. Like an idiot, she just stared at him a moment.

"Sit," he said a little more forcefully.

So Carol sat. She would have just flopped boneless onto the ground except for Daryl catching her halfway and lowering her body to the ground. Once down, Daryl crouched down and started unwinding stubborn blackberry vines from the tangle around her feet.

"I feel really stupid," Carol muttered, watching Daryl work. She couldn't help take an interest. "And useless," she added, admiring his hands more than she should. Why had she never noticed his hands before?

"You are stupid if ya think you're useless," Daryl grimaced at the state of Carol's feet as he yanked off a soft-soled shoe. "You're about the least useless person in this whole damn place."

"Really," Carol smiled, then hissed at Daryl's contact with her skin. "There's someone less useless than me? Who is it?"

"Well, Hershel's pretty much not useless. Old man's got his hand in just about every damn thing," Daryl drawled pulling out his knife again. "And I pretty much don't think Sasha even sleeps."

Carol nodded her head like Daryl could hear it rattle. She had to agree with both of those assessments. "True," she finally said.

Daryl pulled the last vine free and rocked back on his heels. "Where the hell are your boots, Miss Not Useless?" Daryl gave Carol a withering look. "And do you not own any socks? Your ankles are raw meat."

"Thank you for that lovely description," Carol said, drawing her feet back, but finding them still firmly in Daryl's grasp. "I didn't plan on running outside today, you know. It just kinda happened." Carol gave up trying to free her feet and sighed. "My boots don't fit right. They hurt so I don't like to wear them." she finished, lamely.

"They sure as hell won't fit right now," Daryl declared without heat. "That I can fix."

"Huh?" Carol asked, confused.

With one smooth motion, Daryl shoved the shoe back on Carol's foot and helped her stand up. "Come on, Birthday Girl," he said, pulling her back toward the prison. "I ain't got all day."

_Tbc…._

_**AN: Funny how themes in fan fiction seem to come around in loops. I had this part mostly finished when another excellent fic popped up talking about berries. Ditto on the boots. **_

_**I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you did, please drop me a note and let me know.**_

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**Surplus Imagination.**_


	3. Surprises Under the Bed

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_**AN: This story is set between Seasons 3 & 4. When I started it, I didn't know about Lizzy & Mika. They are not included. This chapter gets a little silly. Some of you will remember where the inspiration originates. I hope you enjoy. I'll give you some Caryl next time! Surplus Imagination**_

* * *

_**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**_

_**Surprises Under the Bed **_

Daryl deposited Carol in Hershel's cell without another word. While she was getting her scratches looked at, Daryl quietly ransacked Carol's place looking for shoes.

It bothered him to see Carol so down. He would never admit it, but he relied on Carol's spirit to keep his own up.

"What are you doing? Can I help you find something?"

Daryl turned to see the silhouette of Beth Green sporting a babbling Judith on her hip. Behind her, a shaft of sunlight broke through the gloom in the cell.

"It's Carol's birthday," Daryl replied, dropping to his knees to look under the bunk. He didn't look back at Beth's happy exclamation.

"I didn't know that. You gonna hide under her bed as a surprise?"

That one gave him pause. "What?" he asked, looking up over one shoulder at the blonde.

"You know, hide, jump out and say 'surprise'," Beth smiled and bounced Judith some more. It had been a while since Daryl had seen Beth with a smile. He was starting to think that maybe they all needed something to celebrate. Looking under the bunk, Daryl started to pull boxes out of the way.

"What surprise?" Sasha asked as she joined them in the cell. Immediately, Judith leaned toward the young woman to be held.

Beth transferred the happy baby. "Carol's birthday. Daryl's going to hide under the bed and surprise her," she said lightly.

"Carol won't be the one surprised, you jump out at her like that," Sasha admonished Daryl. She lifted the baby up and blew a big raspberry on her stomach. Judith squealed in delight. "She'll a knife you in the head, make no mistake," she deadpanned, before blowing another raspberry.

"I ain't plannin' on jumping out at no damn body," Daryl grouched. He dropped to his back and wiggled into the cleared out spot, half under the bunk. Seemed like Carol had stored half a department store in the small space. Daryl had to really weed through the baskets of stuff to find her boots.

"Well, we should do something for Carol," Beth offered, dropping to her knees as well. "She seems kinda down lately."

"Who's down?" Michonne asked as she entered the cell. "Why are we all in Carol's cell?"

Daryl ignored the impromptu hen party and scooted a little farther in. There was just enough clearance for him to raise up on one elbow a little and move stuff around. "Found 'em," he said to no one in particular. Grabbing the boots by the laces, Daryl tried to scoot back out, but found his way blocked by all the women. Who'd have ever thought he'd have so many females in his life? He couldn't help but notice that all of _them_ were wearing boots.

"We're planning a surprise party for Carol. It's her birthday today," Beth's voice sang.

Daryl could hear yet another raspberry being blown and Judith's shrieking laugh. Michonne's voice cut through the baby giggles. "Are we giving her the redneck as a gift? That why his legs are sticking out from under the bed? I think the wrong parts are showing."

In response, all the women laughed. Trapped under the bunk, Daryl dropped his head down on the floor and privately blushed.

"Hey, what's going on? I want in," Maggie's voice joined the party. "Does anyone know why Carol is in with my dad? She tore outta here a while ago upset about something."

Daryl figured he ought to say something, but a scrap of red caught his eye. In a covered basket near the cell bars, the racy, red lace of a lady's thong underwear hung partially out.

Breath caught in his throat, Daryl remembered that red thong vividly. He and Carol had never talked about it again, but he couldn't help but wonder, from time to time, if she ever wore it under her clothes. Feeling bold, Daryl reached over and yanked the scrap. The lace caught on the wicker and tipped the basket over.

"I don't know about that," Beth replied. "But, it's Carol's birthday. We're gonna surprise her. Daryl's under the bed."

When the basket tipped, the red thong sprung free and rebounded right on his chest. Along with it, a white, plastic cylinder rolled out and lazily rotated until it rested against his hand.

"I saw a big bucket full of blackberries. Maybe someone who can cook could make her a cake," Michonne added, making faces at Judith. The baby squealed and kicked.

"Not me," Sasha said, passing the baby off. "Not if anyone want to eat it. I can't even boil water right."

Daryl froze at the contact. He knew what that thing was! Suddenly, the space under the bed shrunk three sizes as his body involuntarily reacted at the thought of _where_ that thing had been.

With a muffled groan, Daryl snatched his hand away causing the cylinder to of control. Horrified, Daryl watched it spin near the edge. It was inches from everyone's feet! That's when he realized that the 'thing' was making a sound.

"I can make a mean cobbler," Maggie offered. "Blackberries are good for that." She studied Daryl's legs sticking out from under the bed. To her surprise, they twitched a little. Almost vibrating. As if on cue, Maggie could swear she could hear a hum. Smirking, she called out. "Daryl, just what are you doing under that bed. Find something?"

Maggie's tone caused the rest of the women to refocus on the floor.

"He's been under there a long time," Beth mused, taking Judith back.

"What's that sound?" Sasha asked. "It's weird."

Michonne only snorted. "I think I know." She motioned the other women to clear off toward the walls.

Daryl lunged at the spinning plastic and let the mild vibration be absorbed by his palm. Face flaming, he pulled it close to his eyes in the dim light and tried to figure out how to shut it off. Faintly, he could see arrows indicating a direction to turn the end etched into the casing. In his mind, he chanted _lefty loosy, righty tighty._ Holding his breath, he twisted right and the thing shut off.

Michonne looked at Maggie and nodded her head toward the floor. Each taking a position on either side of Daryl's legs, they reached down, grabbed his pants and pulled.

With a gush motion, Daryl flung the plastic from him in a panic. Mind in overdrive, he snatched at the laces of the boots just as he was being pulled free of the bed. The instant his arms were in the open, Daryl thrust the boots high in the air and exclaimed in a breathy voice.

"Boots! I want to get Carol new boots."

Daryl voice broke on the last word. He stared up at the ring of women smirking down at him. He knew his face was flaming. He just hoped that was enough to draw attention away from the other evidence of his distress.

Michonne pulled the boots free from Daryl's outstretched fingers and offered him a hand up. Relieved, Daryl grasped woman's strong, calloused hand like a drowning man. "Looks like we's going on a run, ladies. Ya'll made the pie and we'll get the gifts."

When Daryl got to his feet, the other women gave him room, but wouldn't stop smiling at him. It wasn't until he felt something fall off his shirt and onto the floor that he realized why.

"It'll be a surprise," Beth chimed brightly, focusing on that something that fell to the floor.

"Uh huh," Sasha added, elbowing Beth in the side before leaving.

Maggie bent and picked up the scrap of red lace. She reached over, grabbed Daryl's hand and folded the thong into it. "Funny running into that old thing again," she winked. "It's Carol's birthday you say?" With that, Maggie thunked Daryl lightly on the nose and jogged out of the cell.

Michonne grinned at Daryl's closed fist. "Don't you know better than snoop under a grown woman's bed? Come on. Let's go on that run."

_Tbc…_

_**AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you want to know more about the thong, you'll need to read**__** If It Weren't For Bad Luck, I'd Have No Luck At All. **_

_**I promise you'll get a bit of Carol before the run. If anyone has a suggestion on what gifts they should look for, I'd love to hear it. I already have a few ideas Please drop me a line.**_

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**Surplus Imagination**_


	4. Flustered

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_AN: Here is a bit of Caryl for you. It's a nice slow build with lots of tease._

* * *

_**M**__**irror, Mirror on the Wall**_

_**Flustered**_

The moment the door closed, after Daryl tossed her to Hershel, Carol burst into tears.

Like the good man that he was, Hershel didn't ask any questions. He just helped Carol hobble over to the lumpy old sofa and sit down.

He had spent decades as a small town's veterinarian. Over those years he had seen a fair amount of loss. Most people who welcomed an animal into their home as a family member, suffered terrible grief when their pet died.

The best way to handle such things was to just ride it out. Hershel had no idea why Carol was crying, but he did have a handkerchief ready. He settled himself on a nearby chair, handed the cloth over and waited.

It didn't take long for Carol to calm down. The sobs became sniffles. The sniffles finally slowed. Carol gratefully accepted the handkerchief and blew.

"What you must think of me," she laughed lightly, wiping her eyes. "I seem to be doing this a lot today."

"I think that there must be something bothering you," Hershel said simply. "Does it have something to do with you being barefoot?"

"Yes," Carol shrugged, blowing again. "No," she amended with a shrug. She folded the cloth and took a deep breath, letting it blow in and out. "Maybe," she finally concluded.

"That's fine," Hershel agreed, his voice soft and easy. "Maybe it is." He reached over all picked a cold pitcher of yaupon holly tea up and filled two waiting mugs. Handing one to Carol, he took the other one for himself. "But it's something more than that. Am I right?"

Carol took the tea and sipped. Even without honey, it was pretty good. Hershel steeped the leaves in a big jar in the sun. He did this just about every day. Daryl made a point of keeping the old man supplied.

"Daryl," Carol said, running her finger along the rim.

"Daryl made you cry?"

Carol looked up at Hershel's tone. It was one of disbelieve and a little outrage.

"No!" she said quickly. "Nothing like that. I was upset and he was being nice." Carol felt tears pool once again. "I guess I wasn't expecting it."

Hershel nodded like he understood, but it was obvious he didn't. Two marriages left him with a healthy wariness to tangle in the matters of the heart. He wasn't sure just where Daryl and Carol stood, but he was pretty sure they stood close together. "Well then, let's just take a look. You can't be too careful these days."

Down the hall, the shrieks of laughter drifted into the room. Both Carol and Hershel looked at the door. After a minute, the laughter died off.

"Somebody's having a good day," Hershel said with a smile. He looked up at Carol, but she wasn't smiling. In fact, she looked a little troubled.

Hershel frowned and muttered over the scratches in Carol's hands. He gently cleaned them in antiseptic and wrapped them lightly in gauze. Then he moved on to her feet and legs. Carol couldn't help but flush with embarrassment when Hershel rolled up both of her pant legs.

"These look pretty bad," Hershel declared, picking out embedded thorns with a pair of tweezers. "Had a milk cow once that got tangled in a briar patch. Tore her udders right up. These wounds look a little like hers."

Carol looked past the bald spot on Hershel's head and saw what he was talking about. What Daryl had told her about. All around her ankles and across the tops of her feet were deep, angry red scratches. In several places, bright drops of blood welled up from the holes in her flesh. It did look a little like raw hamburger meat.

"I hope the cow was okay," Carol replied, wincing as he poked at her feet. She couldn't help the twitching that went on.

Hershel didn't say a word about the twitching. He just grabbed her foot firmly and continued on. "I'm afraid not. Old Buttercup didn't heal up like I had hoped. Didn't get out all the thorns. Some, you see, are too small for the naked eye."

"What happened to her?" Carol asked as Hershel moved on to the other foot. "In the end, I mean. Was she okay?"

Hershel sat back and gave Carol a small smile, her foot still in his hand. "You have to remember that I'm in essence a country boy, with a farm of my own," he said. "She stopped giving milk, so we ate her."

Carol burst out into laughter. "That's terrible," she gasped. "Poor Buttercup."

Hershel gave her leg a pat. "I'm going to need you to soak those legs twice a day, until the redness goes away. The hotter the water the better. Heat kills infection, or keeps it from starting."

"They're infected already?" Carol asked alarmed. "I just scratched them up an hour ago."

"Not yet. Let's avoid Buttercup's fate. Just soak them twice a day. Those hands too, just for good measure." Hershel finally finished picking at the scratches. He cleaned them gently with antiseptic, but left them unwrapped. "Oh, and I'd avoid shoes for a few days, too. Just until those scratches heal up."

A knock on the door interrupted them both. Without waiting for an answer, Daryl came in. His face was bright red. In his hand, he held a pair of boots dangling by the laces.

"Ya'll about done?" he asked quietly, shuffling in place. "Goin' on a run."

Hershel released Carol's feet and slowly stood, using the table for balance. "I'm going to find something for you to soak in. Be right back." He shouldered his crutch and slapped Daryl familiarly on the shoulder as he left the room.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, still lurking by the door. He kept his head down and snuck tiny glances up at her. The boots banged lightly against his leg.

Carol felt inexplicably shy at the moment. Maybe it the fact that she'd been crying on and off for a while now. It could be that she was embarrassed at about acting like a drama queen. Either way, she couldn't make herself meet his eyes right now.

"I'm fine. Just scratched up a little," she said, picking at her pants, also keeping her head down. "Hershel said that if I soak the scratches, I'll be good as new."

"Um... that's good," Daryl said, casting a glance at her feet. They did look a little better. "Soak 'em how?"

Carol just shrugged. "A bucket, I guess. Maybe one of those picket buckets, like I used for the blackberries."

Daryl nodded his head, considering. "Epsom salts?"

"He didn't say, but that's a good idea," Carol said, feeling brave enough to take a peek at Daryl. She was a little disappointed that he was still looking at the floor, chewing on his thumb. "We might have some around here somewhere."

The conversation started to feel normal. Very non-emotional, non-ripping briers apart, no-touching kind of normal. Carol started to relax.

"Pickle buckets won't cover much," Daryl said, dropping his thumb with a shake.

Carol would bet that he had made it bleed again. Daryl was always doing that. One day she wondered if he'd gnaw the digit right off.

"Those scratches have got to go a long way up," Daryl said, wiping blood from his thumb off on his pants. "Why dontcha just take a bath?"

And there went normal.

Carol looked up in surprise. Even though such a suggestion ought to be a very normal, innocent thing to say, Carol felt her face getting hot. In fact, her face felt like it was on fire. Her mind flew right to that awkward teenage place that never really goes away, no matter how old a person gets. The place where every comment has a sexual meaning.

Daryl just asked her to take a bath_. Naked, _her mind whispered. _You have to be naked to take a bath_.

Carol was beyond embarrassed at her internal reaction. She must be having some physical response to the scratches. Her brain was in overdrive at having people touching her. Yeah, that was it.

She suppressed the desire to fan her flaming face with her hands. She didn't want to draw attention to her….discomposure. Instead, she deliberately reached for the mug of tea. She'd take a drink and calm down.

"Maybe I'll find ya some bubbles for it," Daryl said, obviously relaxing himself. "Girls like bubbles, right?"

_Oh, God_, she thought. _Bubbles_.

Parts of her clinched tight.

Lost in her hormonal thoughts, she dropped the mug. The ceramic clanged onto the floor with a huge thump. Tea went everywhere. The sound startled the both of them.

Daryl jumped at the noise. Carol was staring at him all wide-eyed and embarrassed as hell.

"I can't take a bath," she stammered, her face glowing red. "No bathtub."

Daryl wondered at her extreme reaction. It was just a spill. Was the mention a bathtub taboo, somehow? He never could figure what was okay to say, or not. Did he overstep his bounds? Did he do something wrong?

Worse, did she somehow know what he had been thinking?

Sure, he kept remembering what he found under the bed. Couldn't get it out of his mind. Like a horny teenager, he kept playing that little scene over and over. Made it difficult to concentrate on their conversation.

Carol deserved better than some of the….things...he had been imagining. She was a good woman, after all. He was just a...well.,..a pervert.

Involuntarily, Daryl felt his own face flame in response to Carol flush. The two of them just gaped and blushed at each other, each thinking their own thoughts.

Desperate for a distraction from the moment, Daryl dropped the boots and went to clean up the spill. He pulled his red rag as he knelt on the floor.

"I'm so sorry," Carol stammered, flustered. "I can't believe I dropped it." She was relieved about the diversion of attention.

"Just an accident," Daryl said, mopping tea up with the rag. Underneath, the gray industrial tile actually got a little less gray. "Could happen to anybody."

Carol swung her bare feet to the ground. "Let me do that."

"Stop," Daryl growled. "I got this. It's nothing." He stopped and glared at her until she pulled her feet back up, looking ashamed.

Two seconds later, he was done. The clean-up really was nothing big. He felt bad about barking at her, but didn't know how to apologize. He was always terrible with things like that.

"Looks like you left a clean spot," Carol mused from her chair. "I guess this means I'll have to do the whole thing."

Now that just pissed Daryl off. His emotions were already running amuk today. He slapped the rag down and burst up at her. "Let somebody else do it. It's high time some of them," he flailed his arms generally in the direction of the kitchen, "did somethin' besides eatin' their damn heads off."

"I was just kidding," Carol snapped back, just as irritated. Her own emotions were frayed. "Good Lord, Daryl. It was just a joke."

"It ain't fair that you're always the one workin' and doin'," Daryl spat climbing to his feet. "You deserve a break."

"Well, don't take it out on me!" Carol joined him on her feet, both hands planted firmly on her hips. "I don't need a break!" She seized the opportunity to drown her embarrassment out with anger. If Daryl wanted a fight, she'd give him one!

Daryl gave her a dirty look, obviously holding himself back from retorting. He shoved the wet, red rag into his back pocket violently and instantly felt the wet soak on through. "Son-of-a-bitch," he swore, pulling it back out.

Daryl stalked over to the trash can and wrung the rag out. A stream of tea poured out in a thin line. He channeled every bit of irritation and masked embarrassment, into twisting the rag to oblivion. He even made a growling sound as he did it.

Behind him, Carol smothered a laugh.

"Think that's funny, do ya?" Daryl asked, feeling stupid. He turned around to see Carol, laughing behind her hands.

"Oh, no. Not me," Carol smirked. "Not funny at all."

Daryl thought Carol laughing like that, was a sight to see. Her whole face lit up with joy and her eyes shone like stars. Seeing her like that made all of his anger just run out, like the tea on the floor. Daryl wondered if he could get her to really smile. Smile big, with lots of teeth.

"Soaked my damn drawers," Daryl ventured, hoping for a good reaction. "Now my ass is all wet."

Carol burst out laughing. She walked over to Daryl and spun him around. Looking at the back of his pants, she could see the big wet spot blooming. If anything, her smile grew wider. "You can barely notice it."

Daryl looked over his shoulder at the wet spot, and then up to Carol face. Success. He gave her a little, half smile back. "Liar," he accused benignly. Carol just shrugged and grinned.

Slowly, Daryl turned around. For a good minute, they just stood and snickered at each other. "I guess I'll live," he said.

Carol took that as an end to their spat. She padded back over to the chair and sat back down. Looking over at the boots Daryl had dropped, she realized that they were hers.

"Daryl," she asked. "Are those my boots?"

Nodding his head, Daryl headed over and snagged the pair. "That's why I came in here," he said. "Goin' on a run. Thought I'd see to some new boots, if I came across some."

"I hope you aren't going out just for that," Carol said, worried about imposing. "I can manage. They're just a little small."

"Ain't no trouble. Goin' on a run anyway," Daryl lied. There was no way he was gonna tell Carol about his plans.

He knelt down and grabbed Carol's right foot. Flipping the boot over, he measured the sole against her foot. "A little too small my ass," Daryl grouched. "No wonder you won't wear 'em."

He plopped down onto the ground and wrestled the insole out. He sized it up against the sole of her foot and traced the edges. "I make it at least a full size too small. Maybe two. What size to ya usually wear?"

Carol jumped a little when Daryl touched her foot, but she held still. "I usually wear nines. Nine and a half in sneakers."

"Damn, woman!" Daryl raised his eyebrows at her, over her toes. "Ya got some big feet! I wear elevens myself."

"Women's size nine, not mens, stupid. Women's shoes are smaller." Carol said pulling her foot away. "That's seven and a half in mens." Then she laughed. "But for women's sizes, nine is pretty big."

"They don't look so big to me," Daryl said. "Except for those big ass scratches and all that girly pink shit on the toes, they look just fine."

He clamored to his feet ignoring how badly his knees popped at the effort. Knotting the laces, Daryl slung the boots over his shoulder. "Ya know what they say about big feet," he said, snapping the wet rag.

Carol snorted again, blushing anew. "I know that they say about men with big feet," she laughed, tossing a pointed look.

"Hell, Carol," Daryl choked in return, more than a little mortified. "I only meant ta say, big feet, big heart."

Face aflame, he turned his body slightly to the side, pretending to hide. "Here I was thinkin' I was the only pervert around!" He shook his head in amusement and headed for the door.

"Daryl, wait!"

Carol hopped up from the chair and practically ran to the door, ignoring the sting of her pants dropping back onto the scratches. She had so much to say, but no way to express it. Biting her lip, she slowly reached for his hand. Grasping it firmly, Carol channeled all that she wanted to say into two words.

"Be safe."

Daryl looked down at their hands. His gnarled and wind-burned. Hers white and chapped. They looked pretty good together.

With a hesitant, slow motion, Daryl raised the clasped hands and gave Carol's fingers a whisper of a kiss. He felt her shiver in return.

Without a word, Daryl nodded his agreement, let go and stepped out of the door.

_Tbc…_

**AN: I hope you liked that. A nice, slow build. I think Daryl is getting pretty brave with some of his teasing. And Carol just keeps crossing the line. **

**I love everyone's ideas on gifts. I'll incorporate some of those with ideas of my own. Next chapter is the run. I'm trying to decide who he should take with him. **

**If you liked the chapter, I'd love you to drop me a line and let me know.**

**Thanks for reading! Surplus Imagination**


	5. Rubba Dub Dub

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_**AN: Hey GG & Guest, check the end!**_

_**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**_

**Rubba Dub Dub**

Daryl's mind was whirling with thoughts. It had been a hell of a day so far. Right after leaving Hershel's room, Beth had flown up to him and pressed a tattered paper in his hand.

"Here's the list," she said breathlessly. Big pieces of blonde hair escaped from her ponytail to curl around her face. "One side lists things we need. The other side has stuff we want for Carol." She joined him on the walk toward the kitchen.

"Maggie making a pie?" Daryl asked, moving along at a fast pace. It was already mid-afternoon. Not much daylight left.

"Cobbler. She's working on it," Beth said breathlessly as she struggled to keep up with Daryl's long strides. "There's not a lot of sugar and the Crisco is almost gone." She blew the hair out of her eyes in irritation as they reached the kitchen. "You see any of that, load it all up."

Daryl nodded. He shoved the paper into his back pocket. He reached for his crossbow on the table, tickled Judith's ear in passing and headed for the door.

"We'll keep Carol up in the watchtower," Maggie called from the kitchen, "until you get back. Good luck!"

"We taking the bike?" Michonne asked, while inspecting what was left of her fingernails. She was sitting, sprawled out on the top step leading down to the yard. "You said I could drive this time." Michonne used her leg to block Daryl from getting past.

"Ain't no way in hell I'm riding bitch on my bike," Daryl snapped without much heat. He vaulted over the stair railing and landed lightly on the ground below. "'Sides, we need a truck." Without looking back, he headed off to where they kept all the vehicles. "Come 'on now, we're burning daylight!"

Michonne huffed, but quickly followed. Giving Daryl a series of baleful stares, she climbed into the shotgun space of a late model, silver pickup truck. "You could at least let me drive the damn truck," she grumbled.

"You drive like an old lady," Daryl accused as he backed up the truck wildly. "A blind, old lady." He spun the wheel hard, and peeled around to the gates.

"Old ladies don't waste gas," Michonne protested, hanging on to the dashboard, her braids swinging around her face. "Care to tell me why the big hurry, Speed Racer?"

"Big list. No time." Nothing more really needed to be said.

When they pulled up to the gate, Glen ran up and pounded on the passenger door. "I'm coming, too. Let me in."

Michonne rolled down the window and fixed Glen with a steely-eyed stare meant to intimidate. "So get in the back." She hooked her thumb to illustrate.

Glen rolled his eyes. "There's enough room in the cab," he said. "Scoot over." Without asking, he unlatched the door lock and pulled open the door. "Come on, move." Glen grabbed the door frame and stepped on up, but Michonne blocked him.

"Like hell I am," Michonne replied, calmly. "I don't 'do_'_ the middle." She wedged her knees against the truck's dashboard and dared Glen to do something about it.

"Guys don't sit next to other guys if there's a girl around," Glen protested, looking at the half-opened gate in panic. "Besides, Daryl flings those elbows of his around like crazy."

"Another good reason I'm staying right here." Michonne nodded. "Nope. Not moving."

Glen crouched a little and appealed across the cab over Michonne's head. "Little help here, man? Unless you want-"

Looking irritated, Daryl never replied. The moment Carl had the gate open enough, Daryl floored the gas and cut-off Glen's words.

"Shit!" Glen cried and flung himself right across Michonne's lap and started wiggling to fill the middle seat. Chuckling wickedly, Michonne helped haul in Glen's legs and got the door closed before the any walker hands got too close.

"If you two Bozos are finished," Daryl drawled, "we need to figure out where to go."

As soon as Glen seemed to be settled in the middle seat, Daryl deliberately dodged an imaginary pothole in the road and rammed his elbow into the younger man, while turning the wheel hard.

"Ow! You did that on purpose," Glen protested, rubbing his arm. "Should have known you two would gang up on me."

"Why'd you come then?" Michonne asked with a sideward glance.

Daryl snorted his amusement. "You got your answer right there."

"Very funny," Glen replied. "Ha ha." At Michonne's curious glance, Glen added, "Daryl's a regular Bevis and Buthead on the word 'come'."

"Tell me I'm wrong," Daryl snorted again, dodging a walker for real this time, still swinging his elbows.

Michonne caught on. "You use up that last box already? It's only been a couple of weeks," she asked, counting back in her head. "It was a mega box, too. Damn!"

"No, you're not wrong," Glen said to Daryl, nimbly avoiding another elbow. "And it's been like three weeks, not two," he said to Michonne. "Just because you two are celibate don't mean the rest of us are," he huffed.

Daryl answered that with another elbow, no pretense this time, right to the ribs. Glen gave a pained grunt.

"Hell, no condoms don't mean we're celibate," Michonne mused. "Most of the time I don't need one," she nodded to herself, considering. "More often than not," she added with a shrug. "You could take a lesson from me."

Both men turned to stare a little slack jawed. Glen stammered, "And you're suggesting?"

"What?" Michonne asked. "I got to spell it out for you?" Boldly, she stared right back. Michonne was pleased to see Daryl blushing to his roots.

Almost at a loss for words, Glen finally stammered a clarification. "Do you mean _lesson_ like I should do what you do? Or lessons like you want to give me a _lesson_?" Glen gulped and waited. "So yes, I do need you to spell it out."

Michonne laughed hard. "A.S.K…M.A.G.G.I.E," she spelled slowly, with a big grin. "Or better yet, get her to come and ask me." .

At that moment, the truck hit and ran over a walker. The entire cab lurched while crunching over the body. Daryl threw his attention back on the road and swore loudly. "Conversation over," he growled.

"Okay," Glen gasped. "Awkward." Taking a deep breath, he changed the subject. "I know, and everyone else apparently knows, what I'm after. What are you two after?

"It's Carol's birthday," Michonne said, still enjoying Daryl's embarrassment. "We're after gifts."

"Carol's birthday?" Glen repeated. "Cool! I want to get her chocolate if we can find some."

"No imagination," Michonne chided. "Not every woman craves chocolate."

"Carol does," Glen affirmed. "It's a fact."

Daryl dug around in his back pocket and fished out the list. Not one to waste an opportunity, he elbowed Glen upside the head while dropping it in the young man's lap.

"That's getting really old," Glen grouched, but picked up the list. He started reading while Michonne laughed.

"Sugar, Crisco, flour, any spices you can find, diapers, formula and tampons," Glen read off. "Gonna be a wild party, I can just tell."

Daryl growled and raised his elbow threateningly.

Glen flinched and quickly read the other side. "Oh, here it is." Clearing his voice, he started again.

" Hershel wrote 'chocolate' and 'good book'. I wonder if he mean 'a_' _good book or 'the_'_ good book?" Glen chuckled.

Michonne glanced at the paper. "Looks to me someone crossed out 'good' and wrote 'romance' next to it."

"No stealing my thunder," Glen reproved. He pulled the paper in closer so that Michonne couldn't see. "And right you are. I think Beth changed it to 'romance book'."

Daryl just rolled his eyes. "I ain't gettin' no dang romance novel. What else?"

"They are stupid," Glen agreed. "Ok. Beth wrote 'something pretty to wear' only Maggie crossed out 'pretty' and added 'sexy'."

"I could get behind that," Michonne grinned. "Girl got to have something to make her feel-"

With a jolt that threw both Glen and Michonne onto the dash, Daryl slammed on the brakes and the truck slid to a screeching halt.

"Next time some kinda _innuendo_ comes outta either ya'll's mouths, ya walkin' back," Daryl promised coolly. "It's Carol's birthday, not some damn burlesque show." He cracked his neck and started the truck forward. "Have some respect."

Glen climbed out of the foot-well and eased back onto the seat. Michonne fastened her seatbelt and looked at Daryl thoughtfully. "Go on," she said. "Finish the list."

Casting a wary glance at Daryl, Glen continued. "This one is safe. Evelyn wrote 'socks'. How boring."

"But good," Michonne disagreed. "Few things feel as good as a new pair of socks. I like fuzzy ones, myself."

"Here comes a theme," Glen read on. "Carl - chocolate, Rick - chocolate, Tyrese - chocolate. I told you, Carol likes chocolate."

"Carol does like chocolate," Daryl added, quietly. "All kinds."

"Awww," Glen smiled. "Judith wants to give Carol a new sippy cup!"

"What the hell does a grown-ass woman need with a 'sippy cup'?" Daryl asked, confused. "What the hell is a 'sippy cup'?"

"It's a baby's cup with a little spout on the lid," Michonne replied, watching the man thoughtfully. "It's so they can knock it over without spilling all the milk."

"Like those coffee cups from the mermaid place?" Daryl asked, a little irritated. "That shit still spills when ya tip it."

"Starbucks," Glen said with a dreamy smile on his face. "I miss Starbucks."

"It only spills a little," Michonne finished. "And you don't put in hot coffee for a baby."

"Baby?" Daryl spat, "I thought Ass-Kicker wanted to give one to Carol?"

"It's for Judith to give to Carol, but it's really for herself," Glen explained patiently. At Daryl's blank expression, he continued. "Jeeze, didn't you ever give someone a present that was really something you just wanted for yourself? Like, when you were a kid?"

Daryl just shrugged. "Ain't gave that many presents. Especially when I was a kid."

"No," Glen snickered. "You probably gave everyone a dead squirrel."

Daryl replied with his elbow.

Michonne pulled the list from Glen's hand and read through the rest. There were a few more names on it that she didn't recognize. Probably more Woodbury folk. She didn't know them so she didn't care.

"I know where we can get chocolate and coffee and books," Glen said, suddenly sitting up. "There's a Barnes and Nobles on 441. Inside there was a Starbucks. I bet it hasn't been hit yet. Let's go there."

"That the one by the hardware store?" Daryl asked.

"That's the one," Glen agreed. "In fact, I think there's a Boot Country near there, too. Maggie said you were going out for boots."

"Sounds like a plan," Michonne added, folding up the paper.

The scenery rolled by as Daryl dodged a few more walkers and went around a wreck in road. Three miles later, he turned toward 441.

"Hey Daryl," Michonne asked nonchalantly. "How do you know Carol likes all kinds of chocolate?"

"That's easy," Glen answered instead. "He's been slippin' it to her for years."

The truck screeched to a halt.

Five minutes later, they continued down the road with Glen sitting angrily in the back.

"Feel better?" Michonne asked, amused.

"Not my fault the dumb-ass can't take a warning seriously," Daryl replied, just as amused.

"I get the bookstore and the Starbucks. I also get the Boot Country," Michonne said. "But why the hardware store? What do we need there?"

Daryl took a couple of minutes to answer. Instead of irritated, he just looked thoughtful. "It's got something I need….for Carol's birthday," he said.

"At a hardware store?" Michonne was curious. "What could possibly be there?"

"I don't need you ta be givin' me shit about this," Daryl growled.

"Furthest thing from my mind," Michonne promised, crossing her heart. "What do you need?"

"A bathtub."

_Tbc…_

**AN: Thank you Peta2 for suggesting Glen! I think the 'three men in a tub' fit perfectly. I had the bathtub planned all along. And I haven't forgotten the rest of the suggestions. I really appreciate everyone's thoughts. The interactions are always the best part of fan fiction. I hope you all drop me a line.**

**I always, always try to answer my all of reviews. I love the interplay. If you guys log in next time, I'll answer you personally.**

**GG: I love your reviews and particularly the suggestions! I've got those written down.**

**Guest: I don't know if it's one of you, or more, but I really enjoyed the comment on still feeling 19, until you look in the mirror. Thank you for your reviews!**

**Thanks for reading! Surplus Imagination**


	6. Cinderella

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_AN: Midseason premiere day! I wanted to get something out for you. I'll have Dixon Demolition ready just as soon as Merle stops flirting with Doc Green. Pesky characters.!_

_No Daryl in this one. But Maggie is on a mission. Enjoy! Surplus_

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

**Cinderella**

Carol knew something was up.

By now, the entire prison had to know it was her birthday. Hershel was not known for his discretion on these simple matters. Carol had no doubt he'd keep a big secret like hemorrhoids or a boil in embarrassing places, but she imagined a birthday would be given free reign.

By the time she had been brave enough to leave Heshel's office wearing Rick's old flip-flops that everyone seemed to share, Beth had run up to her and hustled her off to watch duty. The petite blond looked almost frazzled with hair sticking out of her ponytail, every which way, and flour on her cheek. _Glen needed to go on the run and he was his turn. Could Carol please cover for Glen? _

How could she say no?

So she sat up in the watchtower and watched paint dry. Or, that's what it felt like. Absolutely nothing was happening outside the fence. No walkers. Nobody milling about. Not even Rick was out farming. Nothing to focus on, except what had happened so far that day.

So Carol sat and watched and brooded.

She replayed the events in her mind's eye. She found herself chuckling at Daryl's behavior. His silly miming of blowing at her dandelion fluff hair, his teasing banter that make their friendship so much fun, his laughter at shoving a wet rag into his pants.

What had he said? Carol shifted her view and ran through it again. Daryl, Closed-off, Don't-Touch-me, Dixon had made a joke, of _her _joke about the size of men's feet and…..and….Carol's brow furrowed in concentration...and he said that meant he wasn't the only pervert around.

Why would he say that? He called himself a pervert. Why?

Carol knew she was a pervert. At least, she knew she had perverted thoughts about Daryl. Thoughts that she'd never say out loud. Thoughts that she was uncomfortable even admitting to herself.

She had once groped his ass when he was out of his head with fever. That one definitely made her a pervert. And to make things worse, most of the camp caught her at it. Yep, pervert plus.

Not long ago, she had stumbled upon him showering and had watched him the whole time. Couldn't help herself. She had never seen him completely naked before. Sure, she had seen parts here and there, but never the complete package. And Daryl was quite a sight naked. So she watched from the shadows. That make her a terrible, creeper of a pervert, in the literal sense of the word.

Without a doubt, she was going to hell_.  
_

With nothing else to occupy herself, Carol kept turning the thought around in her mind as she flip-flopped around the guard tower checking all the approaches. Still nothing outside the fences. Not a damn thing.

_Pervert….pervert….pervert_.

Daryl was a lot of things. He was a good man. An honorable man. He was intractable and irritable and obstinate. He had a warm personality that only seemed to come out when someone was hurt, or he was drunk. Go figure. He was also intensely private. And he never said something that he didn't mean.

But a pervert? Based on what evidence?

Carol sighed and scratched at the scratches on her leg. The briar welts and cuts were itching like hell-fire. Beth had come up so quickly, that Carol hadn't time to find something to soak in. Hershel had never come back, having to attend to someone who wasn't feeling well.

As far as she could remember, she had never seen Daryl dally with any woman. Nor any man for that matter. He was always politely turned away when someone needed to change clothes in public, which happened every day on the road, or had to relieve themselves.

He was discrete, mostly, with his own body functions, even if he was a little free with unzipping just about anywhere. Carol supposed that came from a lifetime of peeing outdoors. Every tree was like a gas station.

So why would Daryl joke that he wasn't the only pervert? What made Daryl think he was one?

Carol huffed and circled the guard tower again, the noise of the sandals grating on her nerves. All those thoughts of peeing had her body wishing for its own gas station. Even though the guard tower boasted a little metal bucket for such emergencies, Carol hated to use it. Despised having to tote the 'evidence' away, or even worse, fling it in the customary spot over the rails. The place most men just 'aimed' for when they thought no one was looking.

Privacy was non-existent inside the prison. There was really no place to go that sound didn't travel, or silhouettes couldn't be seen. Carol had personally stumbled upon Glen and Maggie so many times that she could probably tell them just how many freckles decorated each of their backsides. She had come across Tyresse and Karen, Evelyn and old Mr. Bradshaw, and a couple of nameless liaisons from the horde from Woodbury.

She had even nearly walked-in on people going 'solo' on more than one occasion; Rick, Beth, Michonne, and even Carl once. Well, Michonne a bunch of times. That woman needed a partner, that was for sure! Carol did the laundry. She knew.

But Carol had never, not even once, caught Daryl. Never found anything incriminating in his laundry. Oh, she imagined he saved such activities for when he was out hunting. There was no way that man came back so much more relaxed and happy from a hunt, just because he had bagged one critter or another. Carol could tell.

No. Unless Daryl was every bit the creeper that Carol was and had watched someone shower, or something like that, which she highly doubted, then Daryl was not a pervert.

Carol let herself fantasize a minute about Daryl coming in on her showering. Of them showering, together. Soap sliding down firm muscles. Fingers trailing lightly through hair. And the water would actually be hot…

"How are you doing up here? Brought you something to drink."

Carol let out a stifled gasp and threw herself out of her daydream. There was Maggie standing, right in front of her, a water bottle in her hand. Carol had been so lost in her 'shower' that she had never even heard the woman mount the stairs.

"You okay? You look a little flushed," Maggie said, concerned.

"Fine. I'm fine," Carol stammered. "Just a little hot flash. It's nothing." She took the opportunity to snag the water bottle and drink. She fanned herself just for the effect. She was a terrible actress, but she gave it all she had.

"You're a little young for hot flashes, ain't cha?" Maggie said with a grin.

"Oh, they can happen earlier than you think," Carol replied, fanning herself even harder. "Are you here to relieve me? It's been several hours."

"Afraid not," Maggie disagreed. "I'm in the middle of cooking dinner. It's my turn, you know. Judith has Beth busy and the Woodbury folk are tending to the look out on the other side. Daddy just can't climb the tower well."

"Eventually we'll have to stop calling them that, Woodbury folk," Carol said. "We need to think of them as just more people in the prison."

Maggie nodded her head in agreement. "I know, but it's hard getting used to people. It'll happen." She propped up her elbows on the tower rails and looked around. "Pretty quiet today."

"Boring," Carol replied, taking another drink. Her bladder protested the added liquid. She'd have to do something about that soon. "But boring is good."

"That it is," Maggie agreed pleasantly. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked, turning around.

She gave Carol a look of expectation. "It's nothing bad. At least, not very."

"You'd be surprised just how many secrets I've kept over the years," Carol prompted. "Good and bad."

"We all know it's your birthday," Maggie continued. She had a slight smile on her youthful face.

That made Carol laugh. "My birthday is no secret. I told Hershel earlier. It's just no big deal. Besides, I already figured out that everyone knew."

"How so?" Maggie asked.

"I could smell something delicious cooking. It smelled an awful lot like blackberry pie," Carol nudged the brunette playfully.

"Cobbler," Maggie agreed with her own smile. "That's something I'm good at."

"I promise that I'll act surprised," Carol reassured her. "I guess we'll have it when the boys get back from the run."

"That's the plan. But that's not the secret," Maggie shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "Maybe I should just go. It's really not my place." She pushed away from the rail and made to leave. Carol caught her arm.

"No, it's okay," Carol soothed, genuinely concerned. "You can tell me. Is it something I can help with?"

"It's nothing like that. It's not about me," Maggie said. "It's just that...well," Maggie stammered. "I don't want to tell tales. Not on ….him."

Amazingly, the young woman blushed. Carol had never seen her blush before. It just piqued Carol curiosity even more and drew her in. "Go on. What is it?" she urged.

Maggie rolled her head around looking like she was searching for a help from somewhere. She let out a long, dramatic breath and looked Carol shyly, straight in the eye. "I heard a noise comin' out of your cell earlier. I knew you were with Daddy, so I looked in."

"And?" Carol asked. She was racking her brains why anyone would be in her cell. Maybe she left somebody's laundry or mending in there and they were just picking it up.

"I found Daryl under the bed. He was digging for stuff," Maggie said, seriously. "You know how he gets. When something is in his way he just-"

"Flings it," Carol finished. Suddenly, Carol remembered that Daryl had a pair of her boots. Said that he was going to look for a better pair. "Boots," she mused. "Daryl was looking for my boots. He found them."

Maggie nodded, solemnly. "But that's not all he found."

Carol was all ears. What could Daryl have possibly found that had Maggie looking like that? Spiders? A snake? Had someone hidden something terrible in the jumble under her bed?

"Well?" Carol cried out. "What?" She had to know.

Maggie blushed again and looked around nervously. "When Daryl came out from under the bed, he had your boots alright," Maggie affirmed. "But he was all flustered and breathing hard," she ventured.

"And?" Carol practically screamed.

"And I think he had your red throng in one hand," Maggie said, wincing.

All the color drained from Carol's face and she rolled that thought around in her mind.

Daryl calling himself a pervert, saying the he wasn't the only one. Maggie catching Daryl digging under her bed and coming out with her thong. Flinging things under her bed….

Carol looked right at Maggie and blushed to her roots. She remembered just where she had stored that stretchy red thong.

'Shit!"

Without saying anything else, Carol blew right past Maggie and thundered down the stairs. Maggie watched her cross the yard and fly through the door with a clang. In her haste, she had flown right out of those oversized flip-flops.

Maggie picked up the flip-flops, snagged the water bottle and finished it off. And looking like the cat who ate the cream, Maggie took over watch and considered her handiwork.

She was one hell of an actress and Daryl had better thank her for it.

She had Cinderella all worked up!

_Tbc…_

**AN: So Carol knows. I wonder how things are going on the run?**

**I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I hope you all consider dropping me a line and letting me know! Thanks for reading :) Surplus Imagination.**


	7. Three Bears

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_**AN: **__Who'd have thought that Daryl could shop? Evidently my fingers do! I hope you enjoy. Don't forget to let me know at the end. Thank you! Surplus_

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

**Three Bears**

"If you don't pick one of these tubs, I'm gonna hit you with a pipe," said Michonne, brandishing a white, bristly toilet brush. Nearby, Glen lay draped in standard white bathtub, like a dead thing, bored out of his mind.

Daryl rubbed at his chin and paced the line. Three 'tubs' were pulled out of the Ace Hardware store as possible candidates. The store was hardly the largest of its type out there. It only offered the basics. Looking at the dismal selection, Daryl started wondering just how far it would be to find a decent sized Lowes, or Home Depot.

The first tub was a standard, white bathtub intended to be installed into any home. Not too deep, not too shallow, but not freestanding either. It was supposed to be installed within a wall.

"Butt ugly", Daryl muttered, giving the tub a kick. That roused Glen, lying in the tub, to flip a bird. "And too frickin' large," he finished, moving on. Michonne sighed loudly.

The second tub was a somewhat soft-sided, landscape pool insert. It had the benefit of having an interesting figure eight shape, but the detriment of flexible construction. Daryl considered it again and gave a little whistle.

"I am not a dog," Glen grouched from his prone position in the butt ugly tub.

"Ain't my fault ya the same size as Carol. Move ya ass," Daryl barked, running his hands through his hair.

Michonne sighed again, dropped her toilet brush in the pile and stomped off to find more treasures. She had accumulated quite a pile of odds and ends that neither man had thought of before. She had picked up spare toilet seats, laundry hampers, floor rugs, scrub brushes, cleaners of all types, and lots and lots of seeds.

Glen pulled out all the dramatic stops while climbing out of the white tubs and dragging himself over to the landscape pool. Just to piss Daryl off, he pirouetted three times around in a circle before lowering himself into the plastic. The less-than-rigid sides bowed and flexed under his weight.

"That won't work, ya limp noodle," Daryl spat. "That one's too soft. Why the hell did ya drag it in here?"

"Look around! It's not like we have many choices," Glen spat back. "And this one would be just fine if you dug a hole in the ground for it. It's meant to be installed."

"So's the other one. There ain't time for that. I want it for today. It's her birthday now, not after I find time to dig a hole and _install it_," Daryl growled.

"Fine," Glen shot back.

"Fine," Daryl echoed.

They both looked at the third choice. It was a livestock water trough made of shiny, corrugated metal. Without being asked, or whistled at, Glen rolled out of the pool tub and climbed into that one.

"The good news," Glen said as he folded his knees up to fit, "is that the water would reach up to her chin. The bad news is that it's really, really cramped in here." Glen flailed around a bit more, trying to fit a little better, and then gave up. "The sides are uncomfortable and there's no drainage hole," he said morosely.

"Well, shit," Daryl said, looking down. "That one just ain't right."

Michonne came back dragging rakes and hoes and shovels. She had packs of work gloves under her arms. "This place is a gold mine," she smiled. "Ya'll done yet? I'm wondering if I need to fetch that pipe."

Both men shook their heads. Daryl pointed at the three tubs. "Too large, too soft and just ain't right," he said, indicating each in turn.

Michonne whistled at Glenn and motioned him to hop out of the trough.

"I am not a dog!" Glenn exclaimed, getting out anyway. Then he helped Michonne put all of her finds into that tub.

"This may not work, but it can be useful in Rick's new farm," she said. "What Goldilocks here needs is an antique store. I think we passed one on the way in."

"I ain't gettiin' her a washboard for that tub, if that's what ya thinkin'" Daryl said pitching in with the pile. "Damn woman does enough work for ten people."

"Not what I was suggesting, although I'm pretty sure a washboard is a good idea," Michonne looked down her nose at Daryl's filthy pants. "That reminds me to get some more laundry soap." She tromped off again, while Daryl and Glenn lugged the filled washtub out to the truck.

Once loaded, the trio headed back down the road to the antique store. Sitting in the front window was a lavish display of a claw-footed tub. It was a classic. It even sported a bath pillow and a wood and metal tray the lay all the way across.

"Now, that one is just right," Daryl smirked.

Michonne blew on her nails and polished them with a flourish. "What can I say," she drawled. "I'm just that good."

* * *

Carol hot-footed it through the kitchen and into C block. She hardly felt the mesh steps on the bottoms of her bare feet. After Lori had died, Carol had moved upstairs to get more light.

The upper level of the block was completely deserted, a fact for which Carol was immensely thankful. She really didn't need a witness to her frantic dash. She certainly didn't want anyone to see her search.

Practically sliding to a stop inside her cell, Carol caught her breath and tried to calm the pounding in her chest. She drove the silent sounds of '_pervert' _into the back of her mind.

_Maybe nothing had happened. _

_Maybe all that Daryl found was her boots. _

_Maybe he was just joking about the pervert comments. _

"If wishes were horses, then we'd all eat steak," Carol muttered to herself. No, she wouldn't get that lucky. The evidence to the 'crime' was all there.

_Someone had been sitting on her bed_.

The embroidered, flowery quilt had obvious butt marks on it. If Carol had to guess, she would have thought more than one person had been there.

What had Daryl been doing that he messed up her bed like that? Did he get up and sit down a bunch? Was he doing something ….vigorous? Carol felt her face flame and her anxiety soar as she remembered Maggie saying that Daryl had her red thong.

_No. No. No. He wouldn't do that_, she thought firmly. _No way_.

A tiny little voice that sounded a lot like Maggie popped into her head and said "_Way_!"

Carol shut her mental Maggie up and smoothed the quilt. Dropping to her knees she peered underneath. She had to lift the edge of the quilt to open the space.

_Someone had been digging under her bed_.

Carol was the first one to admit that she was a bit of a pack rat. Whenever she found anything even remotely useful, she'd squirrel it away for a rainy day. He father, God rest his soul, used to call her an Eskimo for her saving ways. The space under her bunk bed was jam-packed with filled boxes and baskets. There was no real organization to the mess, but normally everything had something of a place.

Now, the boxes and baskets showed signs of pilferage. A sleeve hung out of one box and rooted booked peaked from another. Right through the center of the storage was a clear channel. It was a path under her bed. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, Carol ventured in.

The open space was just wide enough to wiggle her body through. Carol maneuvered herself to where she imagined Daryl might have gone and looked around. All of the boxes within reach had been rifled through. That much was apparent. But just beyond the first layer of containers, Carol spied the top of the wicker basket that she kept her most personal items. Those things intended for her eyes only. Private things.

Carol shoved a couple of boxes out of the way and peered through the dim light. The basket in question was obviously tipped on its side. Most of the contents had spilled out onto the floor. Carol could see tampons and a half used bottle of Pamprin scattered among scarves and hair pins.

Frantically, Carol pushed closer to the basket and dug through the items, one arm stretching hard. Her red thong was definitely missing. Dig as she might, her fingers never hit plastic.

_Someone had found something under her bed._

Carol blew a heavy breath of defeat and let her head thunk to the floor. Reflexively, she tried to cover her eyes with her hands to stop the threat of tears, but there was absolutely no room for that. Instead, she just banged her knuckles painfully on the bed.

"I'm screwed."

* * *

Daryl held a penlight between his teeth while he used both hands to search for size nine lady's boots. He'd found lots of smaller ones. He'd found a few bigger ones. He hadn't found any nines.

That wasn't entirely true. He'd found a pair of red, tooled leather cowgirl boots with impractically high heels and lots a fringe. It was something a stripper might wear. Daryl shook his head to himself as he searched.

_Not his Carol._

_Definitely not his ever-practical Carol. _

_She'd never go for something like that._

_She'd laugh at him._

_He'd die of embarrassment when he gave it to her and she laughed._

Then he wondered if the boots match the scrap of lace in his pocket.

Daryl groaned around the mouthful of flashlight and leaned his head against the stacked boxes. Thoughts like that were a bad idea. Daryl closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment. He needed to get himself back in control. He was acting like he was teenager. A horny teenager.

_He was a dirty-minded pervert for thinkin' such thoughts._

_She didn't think of him like that._

_He wasn't near good enough for her. He never would be._

_What if he found a cowboy hat to match?_

Son-of-a-bitch! He really was a pervert!

Completely disgusted with himself, Daryl banged his head, hoping to knock the stupid right out of it. Instead, he just knocked half the stack down with a crash. Boot boxes spilled everywhere.

"You alright in here?" Glen asked rushing in. Over his shoulder, he had a pile of fringed shirts on hangers. In his hands, he held two pair of women's boots. One was exactly like the red ones Daryl liked, except they were blue.

_Son-of-a-bitch..._

Unable to trust himself not to say some asshole comment, Daryl just gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Look at all the cool stuff I got for Maggie," Glen grinned, brandishing his prizes. "This is a great store." He looked expectantly at Daryl, as if looking for approval. Finding none, he turned his attention to the shoes. "Hey, you found some nines." Glen pointed to the top layer of boxes uncovered by the fall.

Sure enough, a whole row of size nine, women's boots were right on top. Daryl ignored Glen's continued babble and focused on the boxes. Flinging the lids off, one by one, he finally found a pair that he thought would suit.

Flickering a glance at the $279 price tag, Daryl picked up one of the Doc Martens and admired the sturdy, distressed brown leather high tops and the soft inner patterned liner. They were perfect. He grabbed two pair, knotted the laces and threw them over his shoulder. It wouldn't hurt for her to have a spare.

"Oh, cool! You found some red boots for Carol, too," Glen chirped amiably. "She and Maggie can be twins. Carol loves red."

The words were like a lightning bolt to his spine. Daryl swiveled his head and burned Glen to a crisp with his eyes. Sensing danger, Glen took a couple of steps back, raising his hands.

"I'm just saying, Carol likes red," Glen said carefully as he left the stockroom.

_Carol did like red. _

Daryl stared at the red boots and chewed on the inside of his lip. Since that didn't bring any answers, he proceeded to gnaw on his thumb. When that didn't provide enlightenment, but did bring on the taste of blood, Daryl sighed and picked up the red boots.

"Great boots! Not good for every day, but a girl's gotta have something fun to wear."

Daryl jumped out of his skin at Michonne's voice directly behind his shoulder. He never even heard her approach; he had been so lost in thought. Michonne didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She instead seemed to be examining the Doc Martens.

"Those are perfect for every day. Who would have thought you were a good shopper? Did you see any of those in black, in a size eight?" Michonne bumped Daryl's shoulder like any good buddy and handed him an oversized shopping bag. Taking the red boots from his hands, Michonne added it to the bag with a wink. "Carol is going to be so surprised," she nudged him again.

Spurred into action, Daryl set down the bag and fetched up the ordered pair, Carol brown boots banged his chest as he bent and retrieved a black pair for his friend. Michonne happily took the boots and went out to try them on.

Daryl looked down in the bag at the red boots. Then he added the Doc Martens, squared his shoulders and walked out into the main floor.

"Where the hell are the hats?"

* * *

Carol felt like crying when she finally found her wayward vibrator. It had been flung all the way back to the edge of the wall. Probably flung in panic by a guilty Daryl, caught by Maggie in the act. Carol was so embarrassed that she wanted to die.

With trembling hands, Carol picked up the smooth plastic and pushed it back into the wicker basket. She wondered if she should get rid of it somehow. Maybe fling it in the woods.

No, Daryl would definitely find it. He always found anything lost, or thrown away in the woods. The infuriating man would probably bring it back to her like a dog fetching a stick.

Or she could bury it out in the yard. Dig a big hole and stick down deep.

No, Rick would probably find it farming. Then he'd probably give it to Daryl to figure out who it belongs to.

_Nope. No way. Not gonna happen. _

Carol sighed and shoved the basket further into the depths under her bed.

* * *

By the time they were finished with the boot store, practically everyone back at the prison had a new pair of boots, even Daryl. After Daryl spent an hour carefully choosing the best socks for Carol's new boots, Michonne came along and added a huge armload of clothes for Carol's 'new look'. In the pile, Daryl could see cargo pants, vests and button up tops. Stuff that would wear well and had lots of practical pockets. Michonne called it 'urban warrior'. Daryl just thought it would look good.

That shopping trip was a huge success.

The next stop was a Barnes and Nobles with the internal Starbucks. There were a surprising number of walkers in there, but all of them were weak and easily managed. They raided every ounce of coffee and non-perishable item. It was quite the haul.

Daryl added a mermaid mug to his 'Carol bag'. After a moment, he added a second one. No sense in her drinking alone.

Inside the book section, Daryl was at a loss on what to pick. He wasn't a big reader for personal pleasure. He was more a fan of books on tape. Grabbing a canvas tote, he filled it with books on food preservation, gardening and one on making your own cloth. Thinking of her comment in the bathroom, he added a book on knitting. He stopped at the game section and tossed in crossword puzzles, word search, a deck of cards. Then he headed for the stationary and added bookmarks, pens, several clip-on book lights and a beautiful red leather journal. Feeling satisfied, he grabbed a second tote and headed for the novels.

Both Glen and Michonne were piling on the selections. Glen had found plastic packing crates somewhere and was filling them up with everything from kiddie books to text books.

"We decided to give her a library," Glen smiled as he closed another crate. "Carol was just saying that she'd like to start a story time with all the new kids."

"We're gonna need another truck," Daryl mused, looking at the stacks. A library was a great idea. "I'll get on that in a minute."

Daryl wandered up to the front of the store where all the best sellers were displayed. After pausing to fill up a third tote with every Godiva chocolate bar he could find, he looked over the selections.

Selecting books by how well he liked their covers, Daryl added one of every best seller that caught his eye. Then he topped off the tote by adding books from a table concentrated by popular authors.

"That one is stupid," Michonne pointed to one of the books on top. "The author makes me want to vomit."

Daryl promptly tossed it back on the table and gestured at the bag. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, so he welcomed the help. Michonne struck him as something of a bookworm. He trusted her judgment.

Michonne dug in and tossed a few more out as useless. Near the bottom of the bag, she pulled one lone book out. "Interesting choice," Michonne mused. "This one is the third in the series. The first two are over there," she pointed. He promptly fetched the two and added them to the bag.

"You know, you ought to give her these in private," Michonne suggested innocently. "It will have more impact that way."

"I figured they could be added to the new library. So everybody could read 'em," Daryl shrugged.

"Trust me. Carol will like getting a private stockpile. She can add them to the library at a later date." Michonne repositioned the trilogy so that the covers weren't easily visible. Then she shoved the tote at Daryl. "Come on, daylight's burning."

Glen found a good sized panel van and Daryl hot-wired it. They loaded up the books. As it was, the stacks barely fit. All around them, afternoon wore on warming the colors in the light. Nighttime came pretty early in spring. They needed to hurry.

"What's left on the list?" Michonne asked. "There's not much room left."

Glen read through the paper and announced, "Sugar, Crisco and spices."

Michonne added, "We need formula and diapers, too."

"And condoms," Glen amended. "Lots of condoms."

"Maybe some wine," Michonne said as an afterthought. "Yes, definitely wine. Anything else?"

Glen shrugged and looked at Michonne. She shrugged back. Then they both looked at Daryl. He was leaning against the panel van and squirming. He obviously had something to say, but couldn't get it out.

"Well," Michonne asked. "What else do we need? This is your big damn surprise party. Spit it out."

Daryl kricked his neck from side to side, making the bones and tendons pop. Then he pushed away from the panel van and lifted his chin to Glen and Michonne. This was no time to be a coward. He was already going to hell for the red boots. He might as well go all the way.

"Bubbles," he said confidently. "I need me some bubbles."

* * *

The sun was just on the horizon with the truck and panel van arrived at the gates. Maggie waved at them from the tower as Carl let them in.

Daryl grimaced up at the tower as he drove the truck into the yard. "She was supposed to keep Carol up there until we got back."

"Good thing she didn't, 'cause Carol would be seeing her cast-iron tub in all its glory," Michonne reminded him.

People from the prison swarmed the two vehicles and rushed to unload the booty. Daryl gave a couple of quick instructions to Rick on what to do with the bathtub, grabbed his mess of 'personal choice' bags and headed inside. He wanted to get his stuff well outta sight before Carol came bouncing up.

He nodded to Beth and then to Hershel and ducked a conversation with Evelyn before taking the stairs two at a time to rush into his own cell. It was up on the second floor right next to Carol's.

Quick as he could, Daryl set the bags beside his bed and flung his poncho to cover.

He had made it.

Daryl gave himself a moment to take a breath when he heard noise outside his cell. He gave the pile a half-hearted shove under the bunk and peaked through the door. Nobody was there. Then he heard the noise again. It sounded like a muffled curse.

Following the sound, Daryl looked in Carol's cell to see two thrashing, dirty, scratched-up feet sticking just out from under the bed. He heard a loud thump and a muffled hiss of pain.

Fascinated, Daryl watched the feet still and flop outwards in a gesture of dejection. He could make out new scratches on the soles of her practically black feet.

That damn woman had been running around barefoot!

He couldn't believe his eyes. She promised him that she'd rest. She said she'd take care of herself. He fought back an urge to smack the bottoms of her feet to teach her a lesson about prancing around without her shoes on!

Then he heard a tiny whisper.

"I'm screwed."

"Hell yeah, you're screwed," he barked, entering the cell. Smacking those soles were starting to seem like a good idea.

A bigger thump answered him, followed by a groan of pain.

Daryl acted without thinking. He grabbed Carol's pants and hauled her out into the open. "What the hell ya doing under the bed?" he demanded loudly.

Carol just blinked up at him with a stunned expression and grabbed at the mark on her forehead. Daryl saw that she was beat red with embarrassment, and getting redder by the minute.

"Well?" Daryl demanded again.

Carol blink twice more and appeared to be trying to come up with something to say. Finally she offered only one word.

"Ow?"

"Ow?" Daryl echoed back, incredulously. He towered over her on the floor. "That's it? Ow? Ya ain't got nothing to say about running around here barefoot? That ya scratched the shit outta the bottom of ya feet? Now ya head's all marked up and all I get is 'ow'?"

Carol found her tongue as irritation stifled the reaction from being caught searching under her bed. Her own bed!

"I would have worn some damn shoes if some _asshole_ hadn't stolen mine!" she shrieked. Down stairs, Judith wailed in protest of the shouting. The crying broke the spell.

Carol slapped at Daryl's legs until he stumbled back. Faster than she thought humanly possible, Carol jumped up and ran right out the door.

Daryl winced as he listened to Carol thundered barefoot down the metal steps. If they were cut-up before, then they'd be really cut-up now. Only one thing could have made her that spittin' mad. Unsure of what to do next, Daryl plopped down on Carol's bed

_She knew what he found under her bed._

"I'm screwed."

_Tbc…_

**AN: I hope you liked the shopping trip. I think that Carol's going to be surprised...if Daryl manages to calm her down. Can he pull off a party at this point? I do have some plans.**

**I hope that you toss me a review and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!**

**Surplus Imagination**


	8. Bubbles

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_**AN: **__A friend poked me into finishing this today. I hope you all enjoy. Don't forget to let me know at the end. Thank you! Surplus_

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

**Bubbles**

Rick wiped some of the sweat off his forehead, as he walked into the kitchen area. The place was filled to the brim. Maggie was, amazingly, cooking something that actually smelled appetizing. Hershel sat at the table schooling Carl on history, while dandling Judith on his knee. Beth appeared to be organizing the influx of dry goods.

It was home. Simple and uncomplicated, it gave Rick a moment of hope. He needed hope.

"Anyone seen Daryl?" he asked. Looking over Carl's shoulder, Rick noted they were studying the American Revolution. Rick smiled to himself remembering reading Johnny Tremaine and watching the Sons of Liberty.

No one needed to answer. The sounds of arguing crashed down from above. There was no mistaking Daryl's angry voice shouting out about prancing around barefoot. A bit surprising was Carol's shriek about someone stealing her shoes. They weren't being quiet about it at all.

"What the hell is going on?" Rick asked, staring up at the ruckus.

Judith stopped her playing and looked up as well with sad, doe eyes. At Carol's shriek, the toddler frowned so big that it practically reached her toes. She took a breath and started wailing. Judith did not like angry voices.

Rick started shushing his crying daughter. He picked her up and gave her a comforting snuggle and kiss. All activity in the kitchen ceased as Carol came pounding down the stairs so hard the metal steps reverberated. She plucked Judith right out of Rick's arms and muttered that she'd calm the baby on a walk. Rick just let her, not sure of what else to do.

"What the hell was that?" Rick kinda of repeated. He looked up the stairs, but Daryl didn't follow.

Beth put down her boxes and poured Rick a cup of cold tea. She handed the drink over to Rick with a smile. "They like each other," she said with a quirk of her head.

"Like each other? That sounded more like a match of WWF Wrestling," Rick scoffed as he accepted the tea. "Besides, this is Daryl we're talking about."

"So?" Maggie shot from the kitchen. She had flour on her nose and her shirt. Her fingers appeared to have clumps of dough on them. "Daryl's a man, just like any man."

"So, it's been...what… two years?" Rick asked considering what treat those clumps of dough might mean. He could really use a treat today. "Two years and I've never seen Daryl so much as look at a woman."

Everyone around him laughed. Hard. Even Carl, who hadn't cracked a smile in at least a week.

"I don't get the joke," Rick grimaced around his tea. At that, everyone laughed even harder, until Beth started motioning them to quiet down, pointing her finger up.

Hershel grinned widely, but kept his voice down. "Surely son, you've noticed how Daryl and Carol dance around each other."

"Sure. They're friends," Rick shrugged and tipped back the rest of his tea. "They work well as a team."

Beth moved forward with the pitcher in hand and refilled his cup. "It's more than that. Everyone sees it, but them."

"And apparently you, Dad," Carl chuckled.

Rick was incredulous. "Daryl and Carol?" he asked. "Really?"

Every head there nodded.

"But what about the fighting?" Rick tried wrapping the thoughts around his head. He had no idea.

"Oh that?" Maggie snorted. "That's just a little something I cooked up to get them hooked up."

"From what I could see, it's working," Beth joined in. "You can cut the sexual tension with a knife."

"Girls!" Hershel reproved, but he had a wide grin on his face.

* * *

Daryl sat on the bed and listened to the laughter below. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but the intent was clear. He was a complete screw-up. He hung his head and tried to think his way out of the situation. He winced as the laughter grew louder.

He was so screwed.

Eventually he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. There was no mistaking Rick size thirteen stomp. Probably come to slap him upside the head for hurting Carol's feelings and making a ruckus. He deserved that and more. Dejected, Daryl sank lower on the bed.

"I could use your help with the bathtub."

Daryl nodded without looking up.

The bathtub. His big surprise. Daryl wondered if Carol would accept such a gift from him, after the ass he just made of himself. Would she even be his friend anymore?

"If we don't get it into place, it won't be ready by tonight."

Daryl nodded some more. He knew that. Knew that Carol would probably rather gut him than take a gift from him. He'd just stand there and take . Maybe lift his shirt to make it easier. Damn, he was pathetic.

"Want to talk about it?"

Daryl shook his head no. There weren't anything to say about it. Daryl just hung his head lower. Maybe he'd just lay down and die. It'd be easier in the long run. Maybe he should just beg Rick to take that big Python out of it's holster and pop a cap in his ass. He was pretty sure they had enough bullets to spare one. He might have to go and check first.

"Do you want my advice?"

Daryl considered that. Might be easier than a bullet to the brain. Less mess.

Hell, if he had his brains blown out, Carol would be the one to clean it up. Then she'd really hate his ass!

Reluctantly, he nodded.

The bed dipped beside him as Rick sat down. For such a skinny man, he always made a big impression. It must go with those ski-boat feet.

"I don't know what you did," Rick began slowly. "And I don't want to know. But I do know Carol. She won't be mad for long. If anything, she's out pacing around blaming herself."

Daryl winced. Rick was right. He was a double asshole. The king snake of assholes. Someone should hit him with a stick.

"My advice is for you to get that bathtub ready and give it to her as an apology. While she's soaking, we'll get the rest of the party ready. We'll have dinner and pie and maybe a little wine. I guarantee she'll forgive you."

Daryl shrugged. It didn't seem like enough, but he did have all that stuff in his room. "Ya think?" he asked, hopefully.

"Yes. I think it will," Rick finished, slapping Daryl hard on the back. It kinda stung, but Daryl felt like he deserved it. "And Daryl?"

With a less heavy sigh, Daryl glanced up under his fringe. Rick was looking at him with a bemused expression.

"If you like Carol, just tell her," Rick declared. "Don't hold something like that back. She deserves to know."

"She'll probably give me the backside of her fist," Daryl muttered.

"If that's the case, then you deserve to know," Rick grinned.

* * *

"Do all these bloody little footprints belong to you?"

Carol spun with Judith in her arms to see Michonne standing in the doorway. The woman was propped on the door-jam, cleaning her nails with a knife. Carol wondered how long the woman had been there.

"I thought I was following some walker that snuck in. Instead, I found you," Michonne gestured at the floor with the knife. "Those belong to you?"

Carol looked down and was horrified to see that she had, in fact, left a bloody trail. Daryl had been right. She was irresponsible running around without her shoes. Shame struck her as she thought of the mess she had made, and of the ass that she had shown her friend. He deserved better.

Going for bold, Carol tossed back, "I only leave big, bloody footprints. Size nines, you know." She liked Michonne. She liked her dry sense of humor, so much like Daryl's that it felt familiar.

Michonne chuckled, appreciating the joke. "Well, in that case, I'm going have to do a little tracking. Meantime, I have something for you."

"For me?" Carol was surprised. Usually only Daryl and Glen brought her stuff back from the runs. Carol didn't make a habit of asking for things. She didn't want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt fulfilling a whim.

"Yeah, ran into some clothes on the run. Thought I'd replace those _sacks_ you've been wearing." Michonne pointed her knife at the baggy, faded, ugly flowery tunic Carol had on. "What is that," she asked, "some kind of old maternity shirt?"

Carol looked down in surprise. She hadn't really thought about it. It was just something to wear. "It is pretty ugly, huh?" She plucked at the shirt and realized it was at least three sizes too large. On her hip, Judith grabbed at the shirt and crammed it in her mouth. Both women chuckled.

Sasha took a squealing Judith from Carol, as they walked to Michonne's cell. Spread on the bed was a variety of clothing, all folded into neat piles. By this time, Carol was limping.

All that angry, barefoot dashes, up and down metal stairs, had left the bottoms of her feet raw. Carol knew without looking that the soles of her feet probably matched the damage done by the blackberry briars. She was a double fool and knew it. Daryl was going to rip her a new-one.

"These should fit better and be functional as well," Michonne said, picking up a pair of dark khaki pants and holding to Carol's hips.

"This can't all be for me," Carol objected. "It looks like an entire wardrobe!" She looked down at the pants Michonne was holding up. They were really nice. She took the pair and checked inside. "And these are the wrong size. I wear a twelve."

"Maybe two years ago, but honey, you aren't a twelve now," Michonne laughed. "Try those on." She flipped down the blanket covering the bars to give Carol a little privacy.

"Hey, they fit," Carol exclaimed from behind her. "There's even plenty of room to move around."

Michonne watched, amused, as Carol twisted and turned, admiring her new pants. They did fit well and looked good. Michonne was feeling pretty satisfied. "Told you," she said. "Now pick out a shirt and try that on."

Carol did just that. And she was smiling the entire time.

* * *

"Will you hurry up? I'm ready to dump in the hot water,"

Daryl growled and chased the last tadpole around with the goldfish net. The little sucker was a fast as lightning. At least he already managed to scoop out most of the mosquito larvae and other water bugs.

They decided to fill the tub up part way with water from the tanks. Then they'd add boiling water until it reached a good temperature, just like in the old days. Problem was, once the water was in the tub, it was apparent that the water had its own residents.

"Hold on. I don't want Carol soaking in pond soup," Daryl said, finally nabbing the tadpole. He dumped it back into the tank for someone else to deal with. "Done."

Glen drug the steaming pot over and carefully poured it into the tub. Then he went back to the fire pit they started in the corner and brought a second pot. After that was added, they both tested the water. It was warm, but not hot.

"That's okay," Glen said, wiping sweat from his brow. "I've got two more heating now. You fill these and I'll start another round."

Daryl nodded. He grabbed the two large pots and started filling them. He poured the water through the tiny net as a filter. "Thanks man," he said gratefully.

"I'm happy to do it for Carol," Glen said, smiling. "She is going to be so surprised."

Sounding louder than ten people, Rick stomped in, potholder on both hands, bearing a huge pan of hot water. Without saying anything, he poured the water into the tub splashing them all. "Whew," he said. "That was really heavy."

Daryl stuck his hand in the water. It was starting to feel hot. "Ima going to go get Carol," he said, wiping his hands on his pants. Daryl nodded at both men and left.

Glen took the cold pans over to the fire and brought back the heated ones. Once those were poured in, the tub started to steam.

Rick nodded at the tub, satisfied. This was going to be a nice surprise.

"Grab the bubbles over there and add some," Glen called from fire.

Beside the tub was a pink plastic bottle of Mr. Bubblies. Rick grinned and picked it up. "I remember doing bubble baths with Carl when he was younger." He twisted the cap and poured in a bunch. Nothing happened.

"You've got to agitate the water," Glen said, right behind his ear. Rick jumped.

"How?" Rick glared at Glen, who took a step to the side, giving Rick more room.

Glen rolled his eyes and stuck a hand in the water. He thrashed it back and forth, creating bubbles. "See?" Rick walked to the other side of the tub and joined in.

By the time Maggie came into the shower room, both men were laughing and covered in suds.

"No fair having fun without me," she exclaimed. She brought in candles, a glass of wine and a bar of Godiva chocolate. Maggie took a crate from the edge of the room and flipped it over to serve as a table. On that, she set everything down. "I call dibs on the second bath," she said with a grin. "Do I get two men in my bath, too?" she asked impishly.

"No, you only get one," Glen rolled his eyes while Rick snorted.

Maggie lit the candles and regarded her man. Rick took the hint and high-tailed it out of the room. Slowly, Maggie walked over to Glen and wiped a few bubbles off of his face. Then she kissed him. "I only need one," she said.

Glen kissed her back. "We are so using that tub next," he said.

"We better get out of here. I heard Carol and Daryl going at it again," Maggie giggled. "They should be here soon."

Glen nodded and reluctantly let go. He walked over to the fire, switched out the pots and poured the hot water in. Taking a last look around, Glen said, "You forgot a towel. I don't see any around."

"I got plans for that towel," Maggie said. "I'll just have Daryl take it to her later. He won't know what hit him."

"Think this will get him laid?" Glen asked, as he snagged Maggie's hand. Together then walked out of the shower room.

"Oh, I hoping for more than laid," Maggie said. "In fact, I'll bet on it."

Glen grinned. "You're on."

* * *

Daryl followed the bloody footprints from the kitchen, down to G block where the kids played and back up to Michonne's cell. The more he tracked, the more upset he got. It was his fault she was walkin' and bleeding all over the place.

Michonne's cell had the door closed and the privacy blanket down. Daryl could hear the two women laughing. Knowing that he had to get Carol to her surprise bath before the water cooled down, he cleared his throat and called out.

"Knock, knock," he said.

Carol answered with a lilt in her voice. "Who's there?" she said.

"Daryl," Daryl answered without thinking. Inside, the women laughed.

"Daryl who?" came the answer, with more laughter.

_Knock, knock jokes. Great._

"Daryl, open the dang door, Dixon," he growled. He was trying to be polite. He hope Carol noticed the effort of 'clean' language.

"Daryl, open the dang door, Dixon who?"

More twittering.

"I ain't got time for this shit. Got ya boots. Open the hell up," Daryl said, brandishing the boots at the blanket covered bars. He needed to get Carol to the shower room fast. Screw polite.

"That's a terrible punch line," Carol said from behind the blanket. "Try again."

Huffing in annoyance, he announced instead, "I'm comin' in." With that, Daryl pulled open the cell door and slowly lifted the blanket. "Ya'll decent?"

"Depends on who you're talking to," Carol deadpanned.

Daryl pushed his way into the cell and immediately stopped. Carol and Michonne were standing in the center of the small room, surrounded by scattered clothing. Clothes were everywhere.

"Do you like them?" Michonne asked, pointedly. "Carol's been trying on her new clothes."

Daryl would have to be blind not to see the evil-eye Michonne was giving him. He shyly looked at Carol, and then took a second look. Carol looked good, really good. He nodded. "Looks great. I like 'em." He was pleased to see Carol flush with pleasure.

"Well, I'm heading for watch," Michonne said. "Wish I could stay and clean up, but…." she trailed off, then suddenly just left the room. She knocked Daryl on the shoulder as she passed. "You can do better than that," she hissed quietly.

Before he could retaliate, Carol spoke. "Sorry for the silly jokes. We were just having fun," she said.

"S'ok. Brought ya some new boots," Daryl offered. "Sit down and let me see if they fit."

"My feet are pretty sore," Carol said apologetically. "I don't think I can wear boots today."

"That's what ya get for walking everywhere barefoot," Daryl said calmly. He was not going to yell. No more yelling. "Sit."

Instead of sitting, Carol gave him a look and started cleaning up clothing. Daryl could see her limping a little, adding a few more bloody footprints to the floor. "Will you stop," he said louder than he meant to. "I'm runnin' out of time," he complained, even louder.

That got her attention. "Why are you running out of time? Are you going back out again?" Carol asked, a little worried. "It's getting too late for another run."

He took Carol's hand and led her to the bed. When she didn't sit on her own, he pushed her down. "I'm done runnin' for the day. Just sit and let me take a look." Daryl crouched down and picked up one unresisting foot. The bottoms were even blacker and bloodier than before. With a heavy sigh, he measured the new boot against her sole. "These look like they'll fit good," he said. "But not for today."

"Sorry," Carol said and carefully took the boot from Daryl's hand. She admired the distressed high-top brown leather. "These are really nice." She beamed a thank you smile at Daryl. "I'm sure I can wear them soon." She moved to get up, but Daryl stopped her.

"Those feet look pretty bad. I got some slippers, too, but left 'em back in my cell," he said, climbing to his feet. "I don't want ya walking on those cuts no more."

"Okay. No more walking around barefoot," she agreed, still admiring her new boots. "Can you bring them? I can clean up here until you get back."

"Naw, I got something else in mind," Daryl said, shuffling his feet.

Carol could see he looked a little nervous. She had no idea why. "Well, I can't just sit here all day. Maybe I can get Beth to get them."

"No," Daryl said, sharply. "I got this." He blew out a big breath and studied her feet. Nodding to himself, he looked up at Carol. "Don't be mad," he said.

"Mad?"

Before Carol could say more, Daryl lifted her off the bed and threw her over one shoulder. It really wasn't comfortable.

"Put me down," Carol shrieked, as Daryl quickly turned around and carried her out the door.

"Damn-it, Daryl! Put me down." In outrage, she pounded her fists against his back.

"Stop! You're gonna set Asskicker off again," Daryl said, a little breathlessly. "It's for ya own good." Carol was heavier than she looked.

"I'll show you good," Carol yelled, kicking her feet. "Put me down."

Daryl caught her failing legs and held them against his chest. Those kicks had come dangerously close to his crotch. "You quit, or I'll…" he threatened as he carried them through the hall toward the shower rooms.

"Or you'll what," Carol spat, trying to free her legs. "Spank me?"

"You wish," Daryl shot back. It took every ounce of self-control not to do just that.

Thankfully, the shower room really wasn't far from Michonne's cell. Other than having to climb a flight of stairs and go through two closed and anchored doors, it was a straight shot.

Daryl was completely out of breath and sweating by the time he had carried his hellcat into the shower room. He hoped that Glen had got the tub finished and got the hell out. He didn't want any witnesses when he dumped Carol's screaming ass, head first into the tub.

"Fucking surprise," Daryl shouted as he plopped Carol down hard on the waiting chair. "Happy fucking birthday!"

She was stunned.

Carol winced as her bottom met the seat with enough force to count as a spanking. They were in the shower room, but it was transformed. "Daryl?" she stammered, "What did you do?"

"Weren't just me," Daryl said, calming down a little. "It's from all of us."

Candles softly lit the room in the dimming light. There was an overturned crate serving as a table, complete with a glass of dark, red wine and a Godiva chocolate bar on it. Carol could see that it was dark chocolate.

Next to the table was an old-fashioned claw foot tub. Bubbles rose high above the sides, and it was steaming.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, grabbing his hand. "How did you do this?"

"I'll tell ya later," Daryl said. "You need to get in that tub before it cools off." He tried to pull his hand away, but Carol wouldn't let go.

"Stay," she asked, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "Don't go."

Feeling like he was going to start hyperventilate at any moment, Daryl needed to get the hell out of that room. His emotions were all in a whirl. There was no way he was gonna stay while Carol took a bath. A bubble bath, no less. _Naked_, his mind added. He shook his head violently no.

"Please," Carol implored. "I'm afraid that I'll slip and fall."

She was a bad liar, and Daryl saw it. Still, Carol rarely asked for anything. Torn, he shook his head no, much slower this time.

"I don't want to get my new clothes wet," she added, with big wet blue eyes. "You can close your eyes the whole time."

At his slightest hesitation, Carol smiled and started unbuttoning her shirt. Embarrassed, Daryl quickly turned around.

Item by item, Carol's clothes were tossed over Daryl's waiting shoulder. It was killing him to know she was stripping down right behind his back.

"I'm ready."

Closing his eyes tightly, Daryl turned around and held out his hand. He felt Carol grasp it and laugh. "No peeking," she said.

He took a step forward when she tugged on his hand and then he heard the splash as she stepped into the tub.

"Oh my God, this is heavenly," Carol purred.

Daryl's eyes shot open just in time to catch sight of Carol's bare body slowly slide into the tub. She was angled slightly away from him so that he got a side view of just about everything she had to offer.

_Damn._

When Carol was completely submerged into the bubbles, Daryl watched her lean back into the tub and sigh with pleasure. Looking directly up at him, she smirked. "I thought I said no peeking,"

"If I see somthin' I ain't seen before, I'll hit it with a stick," Daryl smirked back, remember a time she had uttered those words to him.

Carol laughed and closed her eyes.

Daryl sorta folded up the clothes and placed them on the back of the chair. He picked up the wine glass and put it in her hand.

"You want the chocolate now?" he asked, while she took a sip. He looked, but couldn't see anything important under the mounds of bubbles. It was enough to know it was all there.

"No," Carol sighed over her wine glass. "In a bit."

Daryl nodded. Time for him to leave and maybe have a few minutes of alone time. But first, he had to check on the rest of the party. "Gotta go," he said, before turning away.

"Daryl? Wash my back?"

_That damn woman was gonna kill him. _ Daryl took a breath to make his excuses when he surprised himself by saying,

"Sure."

_Tbc…_

**AN: Hopefully no one kills me for leaving off here. Hope you all liked the bathtub scene. Carol is getting braver. Maybe it's all those new clothes.**

**If you liked the chapter, I hope to hear from you. Please drop me a line!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Surplus Imagination**


	9. Down the Drain

_**Disclaimer :**__The Walking Dead, Daryl, Carol and all the other characters on the show (and the other characters) are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. Sadly, I do not own these characters. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_AN: More bath fun. Things are a little AU now, I guess. Still very much Caryl. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

**Down the Drain**

Carol felt her muscles unclench, one by one, as she relaxed into the she bubbly hot water. It felt so unbelievably good. Unable to control herself, she groaned quietly into the wine glass as she let a trickle of the red liquid dance across her tongue and slide down her throat. It was a heady sensation.

"Gotta go."

That got her attention. Carol had almost forgotten Daryl was still in the room. The wonderful man had arranged this surprise for her, complete with refreshments worthy of a fancy salon. Then he put up with her flirty flashing, even tossing back one of her lines. Briefly, Carol wondered if it was a full moon tonight. Something had gotten into her. She wasn't acting like herself at all.

Carol looked up at Daryl and caught him looking speculatively at the bubbles again. Something had gotten into him, too. He had surprised her by agreeing to help her into the tub. The bottoms of her feet were very tender and she really did worry that she might slip and fall. The fact that he didn't bolt made her bold. Carol felt the irrational urge to arch her back and test the thickness of the top layer of suds.

_Damn, that man was going to be the death of her._

As Daryl turned to leave, Carol felt herself blurt out, "Daryl? Wash my back?"

That got _his _attention.

Carol watched Daryl freeze into place. She wondered what snappy come-back line he was going to toss her way before heading out the door? Something to cover her awkward request. Maybe a line involving laundry duty, or fairy godmothers or slurpees. Something. If luck was shining on her, it would be flirty.

"Sure."

Time froze as Carol processed Daryl's acquiescence. _Sure?_ How was that even possible? Carol ran over the scenarios as Daryl fumbled with some type of tray. She mustered up a smile when he came back and laid the tray across the tub and picked up a old-looking bath scrub brush with real bristles, backed in sterling silver. It had to be an antique.

"Are you sure that's for using, and not just for show?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged and soaped-up the brush. "Ain't comin' apart," he said evenly, testing the bristles with his thumb. "Must be fine." Daryl leaned toward the tub and flicked his eyes up. "Lean forward."

So Carol did.

She leaned forward, coming part-way out of the steamy water. Copious suds clung to her torso with more coverage than a bathing suit. Still, Carol felt her nakedness acutely.

Her breathing picked up. Mind flitting around, she wondered if all the bubbles were going to suddenly slid down. She considered what movements she could do to make that happen without it seeming obvious.

She felt Daryl hesitate. She could hear his breathing pick up as well. Was his admiring the smooth skin of her back? Did she have some big zit back there she wasn't aware of? Was he working himself up to touch her? Would it be intimate? Would it be wonderful? Was he so overwhelmed that he would make a run for it? Would it be-?

Reality crashed down as a calloused hand gripped the back of her neck with a near crushing force, holding her body firmly in place. All her little hopes and dreams popped like the fairy soap bubbles they were, as Daryl plied the scrub brush with all the tenderness of someone scrubbing potatoes.

Carol gasped in dismay.

_Oh, no! _ She had imagined all the flirty banter. He _had_ stayed just to help her into the tub. Daryl was scrubbing her back as a favor for her birthday. There was nothing else. No nuances. Nothing.

Carol sat in the tub, with bubbles sliding down her torso in torrents, as if she were just a car to be washed. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she realized her place in the universe.

_Carol was firmly in the friend zone._

* * *

Maggie and Beth fought for position at the edge of the shower room doorway. Maggie had the upper hand, pushing her little sister back while she peered around the corner.

"What's he doing in there?" Beth hissed. "Is Carol in the tub already?" In Beth's arms were two fluffy blue towels. They were the best of all the ones at the prison. No holes or anything.

"Keep voice down!" Maggie hissed back, louder than Beth had originally. Try as she might, Maggie couldn't really see a thing.

"I can't see anything! What's going on?" Beth pushed at her sister's back. "Give me a turn."

"We really ought to give them some privacy. I hear water splashing," Maggie said as she deliberately stepped back on Beth's toes.

Beth gave a muffled yelp. "This was your idea. You don't want a peak? Then move outta the way!"

* * *

Daryl was pretty sure he was gonna die at any minute. Something important was gonna give out, or explode. Head, heart or something else. He just didn't know.

Carol's back was turning a terrible shade of red. The scrub brush was too harsh and he had applied it too roughly. In his panic at actually touching Carol's wet, soapy, silky-smooth back, Daryl had completely screwed everything up. He had held Carol down and scrubbed her exactly like he would have scrubbed something on himself. But iI was all wrong. He was an idiot.

Mortified, Daryl dropped the scrub brush into the water and ran his hand over the inflamed skin. Under his touch, Carol's skin flinched. "Shit! I'm sorry, Carol," he cried out. "Why didn'tcha stop me? Does it hurt?"

Amazingly, Carol just chuckled and leaned back. "I'm fine. That felt good up until a moment ago." Her face screwed up. "Am I sitting on the scrub brush?" she asked, perplexed.

Daryl averted his eyes as the last of the soap bubbles slid down Carol's shoulders to plop in the tub. The woman seemed unconcerned that she was completely exposed as she fumbled for the scrub brush he dropped.

"Hey, Daryl," Carol said as she fished for the brush in the water. "Will you check outside? I think I hear Maggie and Beth in the hall." She didn't look up at all. "I'm going to soak for a while. Can you get them to check on dinner?"

"Sure thing," Daryl managed, after a couple of sputters. He turned and walked slowly away, completely confused.

Hadn't they just been flirting? At least, Daryl thought it was flirting. He wasn't really sure since it wasn't something he ever did.

Just outside the shower room, Daryl surprised Maggie and Beth jostling for a spot just outside the door. They seemed to be fighting with a couple of towels between them. Maggie looked up first. She flashed a grin, but then frowned. "What happened?" she asked.

Daryl shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dunno."

Beth yanked the towels free from Maggie's hands with a huff. She blew a frustrated breath at her sister, before turning. "Is Carol enjoying her bath? All that splashing sounded fun," she said cheerily.

Daryl shrugged again. "I guess she likes it. Said she was gonna soak. Sent me off to check on dinner."

"Dinner's fine," Maggie assured him. "Everything is ready when she is. Why don't you take those towels in there and let her know." Maggie snatched the towels back from Beth and shoved them into Daryl's arms, ignoring Beth's glare.

Both Maggie and Beth stared at Daryl expectantly, waiting for him to go back into the shower room. And then they waited some more. Daryl didn't budge.

"Well, go on then," Beth prompted, motioning her hands. "Dinner is going to get cold."

Daryl nodded and shifted his weight, hesitant. "I don't think she wants me back in there," he said reluctantly. He looked a little worried.

"Sure she does," Beth replied, her smile faltering.

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. "Daryl Dixon," she ordered, "You march right in there and give Carol her towels."

Daryl looked at the towels, craned a look into the shower room, and looked back toward the two girls. He didn't look confident.

"March!" Maggie ordered loudly.

Like any smart man, Daryl did as he was told.

* * *

When Daryl reentered the shower room, he found Carol reclining in the tub with a washcloth tossed over her eyes. He could see that the bubbles were dissipating and the tub no longer steamed. A beam of late afternoon sunshine shot from the high rectangular windows all along the ceiling, to bathe Carol and her tub in warm light.

She looked beautiful.

Daryl just stood there in the shadows and drank the sight of her in. He was pretty sure she hadn't heard him at all. At least this time, he had an excuse to be in the room with her. Not like the last time when he had stumbled in on her showering late one night.

_He was such a pervert._

Those late night times where when he always got his cleaning done, not that he showered every day or nothin'. The water at the prison was always too damn cold. Still, when it was hot outside and especially when he had been guttin' game, Daryl would come in here after everyone else had gone to bed and scrubbed a layer of grime off.

That one night, later than usual, Carol had been in here. Maybe it was because of the heat that night. There she was, naked as the day she was born, just standing under the cold stream, letting it soak her. Daryl knew that he should leave, but instead he shrank back and watched. He thought her beautiful back then, too. Watched the cold water leave little trails of goose flesh on her body as it came down. He couldn't tear his eyes away back then, just like he couldn't now.

After a couple of minutes, the sun shifted position and the beam of light moved off the tub and faded. Daryl found he could breathe again. When it was obvious that Carol was starting to shiver, he pushed off the wall and inched back over to the doorway.

"Brought ya some towels," Daryl said pretending to just now come into the room. "Ain't got my eyes closed."

From the tub, Carol laughed and pulled the washcloth from her eyes. She slid a little further into the water and peered at him from over the edge of the tub. "You can leave those on the chair," she said. "I'll be out in a minute."

Maybe it was all the stuff that had happened between them the last couple of weeks. More likely it was all that had happened this day, Carol's unwanted birthday. Daryl felt like he knew what he wanted for the first time in a long time.

He wanted to flirt. He wanted to make Carol smile and maybe, just maybe, get her to react a little like he was right now. Parts of him cheered at the decision. Every bit was on board.

Of course, since he had little or no experience at the subtler aspects of jaunty banter, he weren't sure quite what to do. His previous experiences had been more the embarrassing kinds. They were not a good guide. Instead, he decided to go bold. He remembered many a time that Maggie had Glen squirming. She acted a certain kind of way, loud and suggestive. He'd try that.

"Naw," Daryl drawled. "Can't have you fallin', getting outta that tub." He walked right over to the tub's edge, heedless of Carol hiding in the water. He set down one towel under the chair and opened the other one up with a flourish. "Come on now. Ain't got all day."

Carol stared up at him with a bemused expression on her face. "You do realize that I'm naked in here," she said.

Daryl just smirked at her and winked. He waved the towel a little and waited.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Carol declared. She pulled her arms out of the water with a splash and grasped the sides. She looked up at Daryl one last time and then stood right up in the tub.

Cold water splooshed in the tub and sloshed over the edge. Daryl quickly found his lower pants soaked and his boots fill with water. With iron control, Daryl didn't react to the wave. He just dropped one edge of the towel and held out his hand. He looked Carol right in the eyes. He tried on a sexy look.

At least he hoped it was sexy.

Carol gave Daryl an assessing look. She seemed totally unaffected by his 'sexy expression'. Without taking Daryl's outstretched hand, Carol stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in the towel he held, her back toward him.

Daryl couldn't help be notice that the towel was too short to give good coverage. Her bottom peaked out like a big W from underneath. The noisy parts of him cheered.

"Brrr," Carol said. "I never realized how chilly it got in here," she laughed. "I guess it was all that lovely hot water. I got used to it."

This was his chance, Daryl realized. It was his opening to do something bold. Something

Maggish. Something…._flirty_.

"Here, I'll warm you up."

Taking a deep breath, Daryl stepped forward and wrapped his arms all the way around Carol, pulling her back toward his chest. She felt so good in his arms. Daryl thought, for the second time that day, like something might explode.

They stood like that for a good solid minute. Daryl was pretty sure he was gonna die at any moment. He had forgotten how to breathe. Wrapped in his arms, Carol hadn't moved a muscle. She hadn't twitched. She hadn't sighed and leaned back into him. He was pretty sure she weren't breathing either.

Maybe he was doing things right. Maybe Carol liked this. Maybe he would turn her in his arms and -

He never even got to finish his thought. Carol suddenly pulled one of her arms free of his embrace and patted his enclosing hands all friendly like. Like a person might pat a dog.

"You are such a good friend, Daryl. Thank you."

Daryl didn't resist when Carol stepped away and gathered up her clothes. He politely turned around while she got dressed. He accepted her final thanks with a forced smile of his own.

When Carol left the room, Daryl leaned over the tub and felt around for the plug, soaking his arm up to his shoulder. The water still held a little warmth and a couple of the last bubbles popped. Daryl pulled the plug and let all that sudsy warm water drain out onto the shower floor and out its own way.

Flicking the suds off of his arm, Daryl sat in the nearby chair. The old wood frame groaned and shifted under his weight. The sound competed with the rush of draining water, neither of them pleasant to the ear.

Two things were perfectly clear to Daryl as he sat with a heavy soul. One, he was shit at flirting. Two, Carol had zero interest in him.

_Tbc…._

**AN: I can hear the groans all the way over hear. What can I say? Things may take time, but they'll get there eventually. After, Daryl has the Green girls on his side. Trust me. **

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will let me know what you think. Drop me a line!**

**Thanks for reading! Surplus Imagination**


	10. Chicken Little

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_AN: Anyone else excited to see Carol this Sunday? I'm terrified, too! Here's a little more of our story. It's a little lighter than I expect from Sunday's show. Beth is this story is very much a teenager. In my world, she hasn't been completely jaded yet. __Enjoy!_

_**M**__**irror, Mirror on the Wall**_

_**Chicken Little**_

Maggie and Beth smiled at Carol as she headed back to her cell and then rushed into the shower room.

"What do you think happened?" Beth asked as she kept pace with her sister. "If I had a man help me with a bath, I don't think my face would look like that."

Maggie nodded as she walked. Carol had seemed happy enough and had thanked the two girls for their part in the bath surprise, but the women lacked any spark. Something was obviously wrong.

Inside the shower room, they found Daryl sitting hunched on the chair next to the tub. The entire shower floor was flooded in soapy water. The tub emptied faster than the shower drain could take. Daryl looked like he was marooned. Devastated and marooned.

Ever practical, Beth stopped and removed her boots, turned up the bottoms of her pants and waded on in. Maggie rolled her eyes and just stomped through the water. Glen had just presented her with a new pair of gorgeous blue boots. They were completely impracticable for every day. If she got this pair wet, then she'd have a great excuse to wear the blue ones tonight.

Daryl didn't look up as they approached, propped by his elbows on his knees. For once, the man had on long sleeves. One of his arms was soaked all the way up to the shoulder. The wet of the sleeve had soaked that leg of his pants. It made him seem off-kilter, a redneck depiction of a raggedy harlequin. One side looked light, the other dark. Grim.

To add to this image, a bright beam of late afternoon sun shot from the upper windows to create a spotlight just past his hunched form. It was as if the light had avoided him. The whole image gave of an air of dejection and sadness.

"What happened?" Maggie asked as she splashed nearer. "That is not the face I expected to see on you."

"She didn't eat her chocolate," Beth observed, looking around. "And she didn't finish her wine. Didn't she like them?"

Daryl just shook his head back and forth. His shaggy hair hid his face and rustled when he moved. Beside him, the tub gave one last draining gurgle and stopped.

Both women waited for more. And waited. And waited. Nothing more happened. If anything, Daryl seemed to deflate a little more.

"Well, that was informative," Maggie snapped, bothered that her well-laid plans weren't working out. "I got a handle on the whole situation now. Good thing I'm fluent in 'asshole' body language." She tapped her shoe in irritation. Little splashes of suds flicked up and soaked her pant hems. Beth snorted in amusement as she flexed her bare toes in the receding water.

"What the hell you want me to say?" Daryl said without looking up. There was no heat in his voice. No real emotion at all. "You want me to say that Carol liked her bath? I think she did."

"Then why the glum expression?" Beth asked. "If Carol liked the bath, it was a success. Right?" The younger Greene went to place a comforting hand on Daryl's shoulder, but was blocked by her older sister's warning shake of her head.

"Yeah, big success," Daryl sighed. The man seemed to sink deeper into his hunch. Beth looked on, sympathetic.

"Enough of feeling sorry for yourself," Maggie declared. "Tell us what happened and maybe we can fix it." She kicked the leg of the chair lightly to get his attention. "Come on, sit up."

Daryl sighed again, but uncurled himself on the chair. "Ain't much to tell. Got Carol into the tub, scrubbed her back and got sent out of the room. That's it."

"You got Carol into the tub?" Beth squealed, eyes wide. "Like, helped her out of her clothes and got in….naked?"

Maggie slapped Beth on the shoulder to shut her up, but the teen was enrapt.

"Weren't exactly like that," Daryl rolled his eyes at Beth's behaviour. "Had my eyes closed."

"Fine, so you were a gentleman," Maggie completed. "Then what?"

Waves of subtle emotion flickered across Daryl's face as he considered it. The two Greenes watched in fascination. Daryl was usually so closed off. Unless it was anger, he rarely let anyone see what he was feeling. Now, everything was broadcast for them to see. Only thing was, they couldn't decipher it.

"Went to leave, but she asked me to wash her back," Daryl finally said. He closed his eyes and waited for it.

Beth squealed again. "That is so romantic!" She did a little hop in place, splashing water on all of them.

Maggie smacked Beth's shoulder again, just because she could. Even she had to agree that washing her back sounded promising. "And?" she prompted, giving him a nudge.

Daryl washed his face with his hands. He was the very picture of anxiety.

"And?" Maggie asked louder. After a moment's hesitation, she lightly punched Daryl in the arm.

"I screwed up," Daryl barked at the contact, startled. He flung out his hands making both women jump back. "I panicked and scrubbed her too hard. Now she hates me."

"Carol could never hate you," Beth stated after retreating to an out-of-reach distance.

Maggie nodded her agreement. "It's true. Carol cares for you. I don't see any blood, so that scrubbin' must not have been too bad." She crossed her fingers and waited.

Daryl exploded, coming out of the chair. "If it weren't too bad, then how come it changed everything? One minute we were….flirtin' or somthing….and the next, she was moving around like she didn't care if I was even there." Breathing hard, Daryl stared at Maggie like she could take that small bit and tell him the meaning of life from it.

"Slow down," Maggie held one hand up to stop the man. "What exactly did you mean, like she didn't care you were even there?" Beside her, Beth leaned over the tub and retrieved the scrub brush.

"I don't know! She was moving around not caring if she was naked," Daryl burst. "Like she didn't care if I saw her, or nothin'. She just didn't care!"

Beth looked at the scrub brush and tested the bristles. Shooting a look at her sister, she held the brush up. "Daryl, is this the scrub brush you used?"

"Yeah, that's it," Daryl answered, shifting his weight around nervously. The floor around them had mostly drained. His boots make wet sounds on the shower floor.

"This is a hair brush," Beth said. "I know it's old and all, but these are boar bristles for your hair. Our grandma had one just like it."

"There ain't no handle," Daryl said, looking at it, worried.. "Looked like a curry comb ta me. Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Beth said slowly. "See?" Beth lifted the brush and slipped her hand under the strap. She showed him how it fit and shook out some of the suds. Then, Beth went to run it through her own hair, but changed her mind and ran it through Maggie's instead. The brush snagged on a couple of snarls and left a trail of soapy water. Maggie's answering look promised sisterly violence.

"A hairbrush," Daryl muttered. He took the silver-backed brush from Beth's hands and tested the bristles. With a sudden grimace, Daryl pulled up the sleeve of his wet arm, making the buttons at the cuff pop off and splash in the water nearby. Baring the more tender underside, Daryl took the brush and scrubbed his arm with all the force he could muster.

"Daryl! Stop!," Beth cried out, grabbing at his arm. She tried to take the brush away, but Daryl just shook her off. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Like I hurt Carol?" Daryl yelled back, eyes wild. "Like I hurt her goddamn back?"

Breathing hard, Daryl stared at the brush in his hand and looked at the redden area on his arm. Tiny specks of blood peaked through the scratches he gave himself. Mortified, Daryl's face tightened into anguish and he let himself go.

Maggie and Beth retreated to safety as Daryl flew into a tornado of profanity and pacing. The words all blended together in one long, tantrum of despair. Like any twister, nothing in his path was spared. The old wooden chair was kicked across the room, the wooden crate upended, the wine glass smashed. The loss of control was complete.

Maggie and Beth had never seen Daryl act this way. Sure, he barked and snarled. He might crowd someone in anger and glare. But kicking and breaking and screaming? Never. Daryl was always in control. Always.

Except this time, it was about Carol.

And that made Daryl break.

As with any storm, things eventually died down. Spent, Daryl finally slowed his path of destruction. Panting, he stared at the brush. He turned it over and over in his hand. With a last burst of anger, Daryl leaned back and threw it away from him as hard as he could.

Fate wasn't being kind that day. Daryl had intended to vent the last of his frustration by slamming the brush into the unforgiving concrete wall. Instead, his boot slipped a little on the soapy floor and Daryl's trajectory changed.

The antique silver brush flew from his hand in a perfect arch. It sailed up and up and smashed squarely through one of the rectangular windows lining the ceiling. A shower if broken glass rained down on Daryl from above. After a heartbeat, the faint sound of someone crying-out, trickled back in.

Beth nudged Maggie with her elbow. "You think it hit somebody out in the yard?" she whispered. She looked terrified.

Wide-eyed at the man on display, Maggie couldn't help but nod. It was time for some damage control. Grasping her sister's hand firmly, Maggie pulled Beth from their safe spot by the wall.

"You done throwing a fit, or should we just come back later?" Maggie asked with more confidence than she felt. She let go of Beth's hand and picked up the chair Daryl had kicked to one side. She righted it and patted the seat. "Sit down and we'll figure this out."

Daryl just stared at her, chest heaving. The closed-off look was back. He eyed the seat with small suspicion, but didn't move.

"I'm not asking," Maggie said tersely, pointing down. "I'm tellin'."

With a sigh of defeat, Daryl walked to the chair and sat heavily down.

Then the interrogation began. Maggie shot out questions, one on top of the other.

Things were going from bad to worse. The more Maggie questioned, the closer and more intimidating she got. In response Daryl's answers got more guarded and angry. Physically, he leaned away from Maggie as far as the chair would let.

"Did you see any blood on Carol's back?" .

"No."

"Did she cry out in any way?"

"No."

"Then she's fine. What did she say after you stopped?"

"Fuck if I know!"

"You do know, think!"

_Heavy sigh._

"She said it felt good up until a moment ago. She said she was fine."

"Why do you think she hates you?"

Daryl just held out his arm in proof. Maggie slapped it down. "We've already settled that. Why do you think she doesn't care."

"Cause she don't!"

"That's not a good answer. Try again."

That last bit was punctuated with Maggie slapping her hands down on the arms of the chair. Trapped, Daryl flinched and looked murderous. Wildly, he looked for a path of escape.

Beth shoved Maggie aside. "You aren't doin' it right," she complained. "We already know Carol's fine." Turning to Daryl, she smiled reassuringly. After Maggie's pointed questions, Daryl was a little afraid. Everyone underestimated the tiny blonde. He never made that mistake.

"Daryl," Beth smiled sweetly. "You said that Carol didn't care. Why would you say that?"

"Already said," Daryl answered, warily. "She acted like I weren't there."

"Do you mean, by ignoring you?" Beth was the picture of interested innocence. That just Daryl more afraid that he might give the wrong answer.

"Naw, nothin' like that," he said slowly. "She was talkin' and all. It just weren't…"

Daryl struggled to find the right way to say it. 'Flirty' would make Beth squeal again. Daryl was sure he couldn't take that again. 'Friendly' wasn't true either. Carol had been friendly. 'Suggestive' would probably get Maggie going. He knew he couldn't stomach that.

He shifted in his seat and answered carefully. "What I mean is, she acted like I was her friend. Thanked me for being her friend," Daryl stated. "The way she acted, it coulda been one of you helping her, or Hershel, or Carl, or anyone." Daryl looked troubled, but met Beth's eyes. "She didn't act like she usually does with me."

Beth looked thoughtful and turned to her sister. Maggie was looking thoughtful back.

"Friendzoned?" Beth shrugged.

"Definitely. Friendzoned," Maggie agreed.

Daryl forgot his troubles for a minute as he tried the follow the conversation between the sisters. Half of the sentences were never even finished, before the other one answered and countered. Daryl was suddenly grateful that he and Merle were men. They'd never had to say all of this crap out loud. Words were usually unnecessary. Girls, on the other hand, were always full of words.

Like watching a tennis match, Daryl flicked his gaze between one sister and the other. He caught phrases like 'under the bed' and 'pile of loot' amidst the verbal jumble. He certainly heard 'clueless' and 'clumsy' and 'inept' tossed out. He was pretty sure those were directed at him. When the word "virgin' popped up, he couldn't help but interrupt.

"I ain't no virgin!" Daryl burst out, putting a halt to the discussion. To his embarrassment, both Maggie and Beth laughed.

Glen stalked into the shower room rubbing his shoulder. His face was a thundercloud. In his hand was the silver-back brush. "Somebody lose this?" he snarled. "I'd like to give it back!"

Before Daryl could reluctantly claim the blame, Beth stepped in.

"I was looking for that," she said with a winning smile. "Where did you find it?" she asked nonchalantly.

Glen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "It came out of nowhere and hit me in the back of the neck. Somebody threw it at me," he accused. Glen studied Beth carefully and then turned his eyes on Maggie. He knew he was being manipulated.

"Don't look at me," Maggie said "I've been in here for a long time." She gesture around. "We all have."

Before Glen could respond, Beth twittered and took the brush from him. "Somebody must be playing a practical joke on you. That, or Chicken Little was right all along," she grinned.

"Chicken Little?" Glen questioned, confused.

"Because the sky must be falling," Maggie snickered. That even got Daryl to snort.

"Har, har. Very funny," Glen grouched, rubbing the crook of his neck. "It hurt," he whined. Maggie made a 'come here' motion and spread her arms. When Glen stepped forward, his boots crunched some of the fallen, broken glass.

Glen looked down at the glass. He looked at Beth and Maggie. Then he slowly looked up.

"Son-of-a-bitch! Who did that?" he exclaimed. Glen looked down at the brush and looked back up at the broken window. "I'm not fixing that!"

"We'll worry about that later," Beth said and took the brush from Glen's unresisting hands. "We need your help with Daryl."

"Aw, hell no!" Daryl protested. "I 'bout had enough of this!" He moved to get up, but Maggie blocked his path.

"If you don't sit down and listen, I'm gonna-" Maggie spat.

"Sit on you!" Beth finished with a satisfied air.

"I'm not going to sit on Daryl," Maggie spun on her sister. "You sit on Daryl."

"Well, you are bigger," Beth explained, like this was obvious. "You can holding him down easier."

"You telling me my butt's too big?" Maggie protested.

"If the shoe fits," Beth said, smugly.

"Ain't nobody gonna sit on me," Daryl said, irate. "Ain't neither of ya asses big enough to hold me down."

"Time out. Time out!" Glen intervened with a T gesture. "Can somebody tell me what is going on?"

"We were just getting to that," Maggie said, glaring at Beth's too innocent look. She turned back to Daryl. "What we think happened was that Carol has Friend Zoned you."

"Ah, friendzoned," Glen said, knowingly. "Sorry, dude. That's the worst," he said right to Daryl.

Beth nodded her head emphatically.

"Friend Zoned?," Daryl repeated. "What the hell is that?"

"I got this one," Glen said to Maggie, raising hand to stop her. "Been there, done that," he muttered.

"That don't mean much to me," Daryl replied.

"Dude," Glen approached Daryl with a look of sorrow. "Friend Zoned is when someone you really like-"

"Like, like," Beth interjected over Glen's shoulder. "Not just like."

"Well, that person never sees you as anything other than a friend," Glen finished. Then he stared at Daryl as if that explained everything.

"What the hell does that mean?" Daryl tossed back. "Ya'll are all talking outta ya asses. This ain't the third grade."

"It means that you might like Carol, say, for a girlfriend," Glen explained patiently. "But Carol is only going to like you like a brother because all she sees, or ever will see, is a friend. You're in the 'Friend Zone'. Friendzoned!"

"We are friends," Daryl protested, even more confused. "She has to be a friend to be a girlfriend."

"Did you live under a rock? How can you not know this?" Glen shook his head with pity. "I'm your 'friend', not your 'boyfriend'. See the difference?"

"I ain't gay! 'Course ya ain't my boyfriend," Daryl burst out with distress. "Does Maggie know about this?" He looked worriedly at Maggie, who was holding in laughter.

"Daryl," Beth said softly. "All Glen means is that Carol sees you as her good friend. She has decided, for whatever reason, that what you have can never go further than just being friends."

Suddenly, Daryl understood. "Friendzoned." he said, sinking back into the chair dejected. "Shit."

Glen looked at Maggie and thought how lucky he was. He had been sunk in the friend zone more than once. He was so easy going that most girls didn't take him seriously. He wanted to help Daryl. After all, everyone knew Carol liked Daryl, how hard could it be?

"You can get past the Friend Zone, if you work at it," Glen assured him. "We'll help you."

"That's right," Maggie said. She took a position just beside Glen. "All you need to do is change Carol's perception of you. You need to do a little wooing."

"Hell, no. I can't woo." Daryl looked panicked. He could barely say the word, woo, much less actually think of doing it.

"Sure you can," Glen said. "It's not as hard as it sounds."

"How?" Daryl asked reluctantly. "I ain't no good at this."

"You can start by cleaning yourself up and paying attention to Carol," Beth agreed brightly.

"That's a start," Maggie agreed. "Show her that you're interested. Spend time with her that doesn't involve gutting animals, or clearing the fences."

Glen nodded his head. "You could seriously make some headway with all those things you got her today. Girls like presents."

Beth agreed. "Little presents," she amended. "Not too much all at one time. Spread it out. Little presents can make a girl feel special and wanted. It shows that you care."

"That don't feel honest," Daryl said. "I want Carol to like me for me. Like a like her."

"See, you do understand 'like, like'," Glen grinned. "The presents are just to get her attention. You aren't buying affection. It's either there, or it's not."

"You can start tonight," Maggie said, wrapping her arms around Glen. "It's about time for Carol's birthday party. That's a perfect time to make a first gesture."

Beth reached over and tugged Daryl to his feet. "Go and put on clean clothes," she said.

"And wash your pits," Glen added. "You stink, dude."

"Look through the stuff you got and pick something that you think Carol will really like. Something that will make her think of you." Maggie put in.

"Maybe something to wear," Beth added, picking up the discarded chocolate and slipping it into her pocket for later. "So she'll think of you every time she looks at it."

"Good idea," Glen said. "You were loaded for bear on that run. I bet you got buckets of good stuff."

Daryl nodded his head. He was sure he would screw this up like everything else he ever tried in his life. "Ya'll are gonna help?" he asked again.

"Just watch for our cues," Maggie said. "You'll do great." She let go of Glen and and reached into Beth's pocket, retrieving the chocolate bar. "You can start by giving Carol back her chocolate."

"Hey!" Beth protested.

Daryl snorted and accepted the bar, wiping off the dampness with the red rag hanging from his back pocket. Turning to Glen, he sheepishly offered an apology. "Sorry I hit you with the brush. I'll fix the window tomorrow."

"You owe me," Glen accepted the apology with a smile. "Go get her, tiger!"

Glen wrapped his arms around Maggie and drew her into a kiss as soon as Daryl and Beth left the shower room.

"You think he's got shot?" Maggie asked, sinking into his arms.

"Of course! He's got me for a mentor," Glen smirked and worked his hands a little south. "Besides, all those double-negatives he's always saying have to work out to a positive at some time, or another."

"This coming from a man whose best pickup line involved a grand declaration of eleven unused condoms,' Maggie smiled when Glen's hands hit pay-dirt.

"Got the girl, didn't I?" Glen said, cheekily, giving Maggie as familiar squeeze.

"That you did."

There suddenly wasn't much more need for words.

_Tbc…_

**AN: Now we are on the path of wooing. Who thinks Daryl is going to pull this off? Any advice for him?**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Drop me a line and let me know! **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Surplus Imagination**


	11. Mouse Ears

_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended. Even though the characters here aren't mine, they aren't going to die. Or shoot each other. Or be kidnapped. Or get waylaid by maurauders._

_AN: More lightness and fun. I hope you all enjoy! Send me a line at the end, please. Thanks!_

* * *

_**M**__**irror, Mirror on the Wall**_

_**Mouse Ears**_

Carol draped the privacy blankets across her cell bars and sat on the bed. Never had she ever experienced a birthday like this one. It had been both amazing and heart-breaking. Her emotions had been up and down. And it wasn't even over. She could smell pie.

Blackberry pie.

The funny thing was, Carol didn't really like blackberries. In this practically sugarless world, it would probably taste great. Kind of like how rice cakes tasted so good after a couple weeks of dieting. She was sure that they would do. But, blackberries had nothing on chocolate, her favorite treat.

Daryl had left her chocolate by the bathtub. It had been Godiva Dark chocolate.

_Godiva. _

_Dark. _

_Chocola_te.

Carol sighed. In her rush to leave the shower room, the pristine chocolate bar had been forgotten. All she could hope was that it would still be there later. Not that she didn't deserve to lose her treat for how she treated Daryl in the shower room. She deserved to lose that and more.

Sighing again, Carol flopped bonelessly back onto her bed. What was she going to do about Daryl? She had treated him badly. Had superimposed his own warm friendship with her wanton, _yes wanton,_ baser urges. _Slut_, she whispered to herself endlessly. Without realizing it, the long, stressful day caught up with Carol and her eyes slowly slipped shut.

* * *

Daryl rushed back to his cell and tried to process what had happened. He didn't know what to think. Carol liked him, but didn't 'like him, like him'. He had a chance to make her like him, but he had to listen to Maggie and Beth and Glen. He head swirled with uncertainty.

It had taken a while before Daryl moved into one of the cells, after they took the prison. He hated that caged-in feeling. Keeping his ass out of jail had been one of his major accomplishments in the world. Well, except for that time in Mexico, but that shit weren't his fault. Still, this particular cell had a couple of good features, luxuries in this bare-bones world. One of them was a sink that actually drained. It gave Daryl the ability to do a little washing up without everyone being all in his business. The other was a high, but reachable window that got good sun most of the day. Daryl had even pried out some of the glass so he could get some fresh air when needed.

Daryl flipped down the cell privacy blankets and pulled his wash jug from the window hook, where it was warming and purifying. Alone, Daryl stripped down to his raggedy boxers and filled the tiny sink. He needed to wash his pits.

Using a scrap of beaten up washcloth and a prized bar of Irish Spring, Daryl scrubbed his body paying particular attention to his underarms. He figured Glen must be right since he had not only scored getting Maggie as his girlfriend, but had kept her happy for a long damn time.

While he washed, Daryl thought about Carol and this whole day; the bathroom, the briars, the teasing and the tub. He moved on from his armpits to his arms and chest. From his chest, he moved down to his legs. He couldn't help thinking about her body parts as he touched his own. He had seen just about everything. He couldn't get it out of his mind. He wondered if the bath had done her scratches any good. He'd have to ask about it later. He'd volunteer to heat and fill up that tub again tomorrow, if it would make her feel better. Maybe she'd need help then, too. Maybe he'd get a second look.

Legs and feet clean, Daryl peered into the tiny shaving mirror wired to the wall. Grimacing at his scraggly appearance, Daryl drained the sink and filled it again. He washed his face and somehow managed to clean up his hair. It was tough getting all the soap rising in the small space. Slicking his wet hair back, Daryl wondered if Carol might like to cut it. She had offered many of times. He felt a little thrill at the thought of having her hands on him.

Finished, Daryl scanned his body and realized that this was the cleanest he had ever managed to get with just a sink bath. He sniffed his underarms and decided they were stink-free. Looking down at his dirty, holey boxers he realized that he might as well do his crotch. It was the only dirty part left.

Trying very hard not to think about Carol, or the tub, or the bubbles, Daryl dropped his dirty drawers and cleaned himself up.

_Schwing!_

Damn, but Merle's voice popped up in his head the moment he started scrubbing down there. Daryl stared at his 'problem' and wondered what was worse, the fact that his little head was channeling his big brother, or that he was actually considering having a conversation with 'it'. He wanted to tell 'it' to shut the hell up.

Of course, even considering a one-sided conversation with his nethers made him certifiably crazy. Daryl chuckled to himself. Not a one of them in the prison weren't crazy. It was a fact. But what Merle was suggesting had never happened within these walls. Sounds carried too easily and privacy was scare. Daryl decided to ignore the both of 'them'. Unfortunately, neither one made it easy.

_Damn, Darlina! What's the big, damn deal? Take a walk on the wild side._

Then that old tune started playing in his head, making him throb. Surrendering, Daryl lost his fight against them both.

Five minutes later, he was finally toweling dry. He was somewhat ashamed at himself. Only somewhat.

"I'm going to have to drop by more often, if you're going to offer up a show."

Daryl spun at the sound, automatically reaching for his knife. He relaxed when it saw Michonne leaning against the bars on the inside of his cell. "Damn-it, 'Chonne! I'm nekid in here!" Daryl sheathed his knife and picked up his towel from the floor in disgust.

"Now the entire prison knows," Michonne laughed. "All I can say is that Carol's a lucky woman. You clean up good, Romeo." Michonne winked and grinned. "Next time I might have to sell me some tickets."

Pissed at being startled, Daryl turned his back and started to get dressed. All those long trips on runs had cured either of them from any sense of modesty amongst each other. They had no secrets between them. "Payback is gonna be a bitch. I'm warnin' ya now," Daryl muttered while zipping up his clean pants.

"Promises, promises," Michonne trailed off, idly watching Daryl get dressed. "Wear the blue shirt," she advised, when he picked up an ugly orange plaid. "It brings out the color of your eyes."

Daryl gave her a dirty look, but obligingly dropped the plaid and picked up the blue. He sniffed the shirt for good measure and put it on. "What the hell do you want?" Daryl asked.

"I caught your little water act from the balcony," Michonne drawled, amused. " I wanted to see what you were going to give Carol at the party."

Daryl froze at her words. He eyed Michonne a long time, considering. What exactly had she seen? Finally he snorted and sat down on his bunk. "Ain't giving her nothin' there," Daryl said, picking up his boots. "Got some slippers to give her before we go. Woman's feet all tore up. Needs somethin' soft."

"Good idea," Michonne approved. She came and sat next to Daryl on the bunk. She toed the jumbled pile of bags half sticking out from under the bed. "What about the treasure trove here? You gonna give her all this tonight?"

"Nope. Just the slippers. Got a plans for the rest." Daryl finished lacing his boots. "Balcony, huh? Watch tower, or walkway?" he asked sideways, through dripping bangs. He really did need a haircut.

"Neither," Michonne smirked. "Heard the glass breaking and saw Glen get clobbered by a silver hairbrush. Climbed the roof and looked in from the broken window. Good aim, by the way"

It was Daryl's turn to smirk. He was relieved that she hadn't caught him in his cell. He had thought the window was too high and small to let anyone see him, but you never really knew. Michonne could find angles completely unknown the average guy.

"You want to talk about that little tantrum you threw?" Michonne asked, leaning back to rest against the wall. ""I know how much you like to talk about your feelings."

"Why? Did Carol say something?" Daryl asked, giving her a sharp look. He felt panic well up inside him.

"Carol is sound asleep, safe in her bed," Michonne replied. "You wear her out, or somethin'?" She returned her own sharp look.

_Asleep_. Daryl felt a little relieved. Carol always moved at breakneck speed. He was certain she got even less sleep than he did. "She had a shitty day. Needs the rest," he said, eventually.

"You do know that listening to other people's advice is a bad idea," Michonne cautioned, scratching her chin. She eyed him speculatively.

"Ain't that advice?" Daryl shot back.

"Yes, and it's far superior to anything that trio tells you." Michonne sat up and scooted to the edge of the bunk. She twisted and thumped Daryl right in the chest, just hard enough to get his full attention. "Listen to what's in here. You know what to do."

"Says you," Daryl scowled, pushing her hand away. He might be fine with Michonne walking in on him naked, but touching was completely out.

"Says me," Michonne agreed. She pushed herself off the bunk and headed to the door. "I was just coming by to tell you dinner's ready. Why don't you go wake up Carol and let her know."

Daryl took her good advice.

* * *

"Knock, knock."

Alarmed, Carol's eyes flew open. She had fallen asleep! Carol couldn't remember the last time something like that had happened. She blinked the heavy feeling from her eyes and struggled to sit up. "Who's there?" she called back groggily.

"Hell, are we doin' that again?"

_Daryl._

Carol smiled sleepily. He may only be her friend, but she cherished every part of him. "Of course not. Please come in," she said, feeling warm inside.

Her heart skipped a beat when Daryl pushed the privacy blanket aside and entered. She must have been asleep a while, because he had cleaned up. His wet hair was combed back off his face and he was wearing a nice, clean blue shirt. It was one she had picked out for him on purpose. It was a good color on him and it fit him well. He had one hand behind his back and looked a little nervous.

"M'chonne told me to tell you dinner's ready," Daryl said seriously and carefully.

It was the Dixon equivalent to a formal announcement. Carol knew he was serious because he only dropped one vowel. She couldn't help the answering smile.

"Dinner smells good," she yawned. She stretched her arms up high trying to wake the rest of the way up. "I don't think I've had a nap in forever," she declared. Small pops filled the air and her spine lengthened and limbered. It felt so good, it made her want to do more.

Daryl chuckled and watched Carol stretch. She didn't look hurt. Didn't act hurt. Maybe Maggie was right, Carol seemed to be fine. Daryl's worry relaxed a little. He even grinned at her joints popping.

"What are you hiding behind your back?" Carol asked with another yawn,. "If it's another lizard, I'll never forgive you." She'd never forget the fat, brown lizard with the leopard spots Daryl had dropped into her unsuspecting hands one day. She just about had a stroke.

"Gecko," Daryl corrected. "Ya got any roaches anymore? That's what it was for."

"No," Carol rolled her eyes. "No roaches, just a big, fat reptile to show up in unexpected places and scare the bejeezus out of me."

"Don't have a lizard behind my back," Daryl said, relaxing even more. Carol must not hate him if she wanted to talk about old times. He wondered if she realized that he had let loose not just the one gecko into her cell, but at least five. The spotty bug-eaters were now all over the prison making more spotty little bug-eaters all the time. Daryl liked lizards, even if they didn't taste good.

"Is it a birthday present?" Carol admonished, trying to peer around him. "'Cause you already gave me a present. Two in fact."

Daryl watched Carol crane her neck. She might be trying to say that he ought not have a present for her, but her voice hinted at hope. In a flash of realization, Daryl realized that Carol, his ever practical Carol, liked getting presents. And in that flash, Daryl figured out just what to do with that big stash of stuff.

_It was going to be good._

"Naw, ain't a birthday present," Daryl teased. "You done just told me that you didn't want a present."

"I didn't say that," Carol teased back, slyly. "I was merely pointing out that I already got two presents from you. I'd be greedy to expect more."

"You and greedy just don't go into the same sentence together," Daryl mused, rubbing his neck. "Didn't we already chat about about you being Not Useless? Not Greedy is the same damn thing."

"Chat?" Carol chose to ignore his compliment. "Is that what we do, _chat_?" she challenged with a smirk. "How country club of you."

Glen popped his head in the cell and gave Carol a withering look. "I"m starving here and Maggie won't let anyone eat until you get down. Hurry up already." Glen turn to look at Daryl and what he had behind his back.. "Nice shoes, dude. They'll match your eyes." With that, Glen popped back out and hollered that Carol was on her way.

"So you do have a present for me behind your back," Carol said, her face lighting up. She swung her feet on to the floor. "Is it another pair of boots? I saw these great ones Maggie just got."

Daryl scoffed, "Ya feet are too tore up for boots today. Have a lil' patience." Hesitating just a bit, Daryl dipped his chin, bolted the two steps it took to reach her bunk and dropped the slippers in Carol's lap. "I figured these might be okay for inside," he said softly.

Carol picked up the slippers while Daryl retreated back to the bars, to bite anxiously on his thumb. They were nothing like she had ever owned before. In fact, she had never seen anything like it on anyone under the age of seventy, or over the age of nine.

"I love them," Carol declared, admiring the gift from all angles.

The slippers were flats made with a thin, rubber bottom and soft cloth. Totally impractical to wear anywhere outside. What made them unique was that they were constructed of sequined material hinting at the shape of a mouse. In fact, the slippers even had tiny, sequined ears sticking up at the toe. They were absurd. They were frivolous. They were wonderful.

Nobody had given her such a whimsical gift, well, since she first got married. It made her feel like a kid again. It definitely didn't make her feel old. It was just what she needed today.

Something of her happiness must have shown on her face, because Daryl stopped chewing on his fingers, and came and knelt beside the bunk. His knees popped as loudly as Carol's back, making them both laugh. Daryl took the slippers from her hands and lifted one foot.

"This looks better already. A good soak was whatcha needed," Daryl said softly, running rough fingers gently over her sole. Glancing up at her for permission, Daryl pushed up her cuff and gave her leg the same treatment.

Carol shivered in response. Seeing Daryl kneeling there, inspecting her scratches, touching her skin made her wish for…..hope for….want….. Carol couldn't even finish the thought to herself. She just knew that she was rested and clean and holding a present in her lap, and maybe there was another one just at her feet. Too bad he just wanted to be her friend.

"These look better, too," Daryl said, oblivious to Carol's wanton stare. "Ya might want to soak 'em tomorrow, too. I can help." Frowning at her leg, Daryl reached over and pulled something off.

"Ow!" Carol cried suddenly, ripped from her musing. "What was that?" She pulled back her leg and gave a little jump.

Daryl peered at the tiny thing between his fingers and laughed. He looked up at her from the floor and grinned. "Thought something was in ya wound," he said waving his pinched fingertips. "Turns out it was just ya hairy legs."

Mortification rolled right through Carol's body. She hadn't shaved her legs in ages! Probably hadn't since the CDC. It wasn't like there was a Seven Eleven on every corner bursting with razors. All the women at the prison had long since abandoned most of their grooming. There really wasn't much choice.

"Jesus, Daryl! What a thing to say!" Carol couldn't keep the bite out of her voice when she covered for her embarrassment. She just knew her face was flaming.

Daryl's face lost its amused look and he had the grace to look sheepish. Quickly, he rolled her cuffs back down and smoothed the fabric. Then, he quickly picked up the slippers and carefully put them on her feet. Once done, he sat back on his haunches and waited.

Ashamed of her thoughtless response, Carol eyed Daryl on the floor. He all but oozed apologies. She had to fix this, but had no idea how. Daryl beat her to the punch.

"Like 'em?" Daryl said, gesturing with his chin. "It reminded me of you."

Eager for the redirect, Carol willed all the extra blood to leave her face the hell alone. She straightened her posture and looked down at her feet. And then it all got better.

"My toes have ears," Carol said, enchanted. The last of the outside light filtered down her cell and caught the sequined fabric. The slippers sparkled a little in the light. Carol flexed her toes and smiled. She looked back at Daryl. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You shouldn't have brought me anything else, but I'm glad you did."

It took a few seconds, but Daryl got himself unfolded from his place on the floor. He was relieved that he had managed to get Carol to smile after his major screw up. He made a note to himself to never, ever joke about leg hair. He'd avoid all mention of all types to hair just to be sure. He brushed off the seat of his pants and offered Carol a hand up just in time for Glen to charge back in and make a fuss.

* * *

The birthday party was a great success.

Daryl sat back and watched Carol graciously accept all of her presents. It was his only real experience going to a birthday party. As a kid, he had been invited, but never got to go. There weren't extra money lying around for such things.

"Another chocolate bar. Thank you!"

He watched Carol smile over her growing pile of chocolate. That stash ought to last her a good, long time. And when she ran out, he had some more put back. He was a saving kind of guy.

"What a nice cup, Judith. We can share. Thank you, sweetie!" Judith shrieked with laughter under the shower of kisses Carol gave her.

The presents went on and on. Daryl continued to hang back and watch. The nap had done Carol good. Her eyes were shining and her face animated. She grinned at everyone and showed off her new slippers.

Carol had liked his present. Daryl hoped that she liked it the best.

After generous portions of Hershel's rabbit stew, they all dug into steaming bowls of blackberry cobbler. It was the best meal they had eaten in a long time. The celebration made everything taste even better.

Maggie picked at her second bowl of cobbler and took in the scene. Half the men were just about comatose with over full bellies and the other half were arguing over the various superheroes in Carl's comic book. The women sat all around Carol, admiring her quirky shoes and all her loot.

Glen appeared to be straddling both groups of men. He was arguing for his favorite while rubbing his overfull gut. She was pretty sure he had already unbuttoned his jeans under his shirt. There was no way she was getting lucky tonight, she thought ruefully. Resigned, she went to finish her cobbler. Better that than nothing.

"Looks like Carol enjoyed herself. She deserved a good night," Beth said as she sat down next to Maggie. Beth had a sleeping Judith draped over her shoulder.

"Didja watch Daryl tonight?" Maggie asked, licking her spoon. "He couldn't keep his eyes off Carol."

"Yep. Saw that," Beth agreed. "And I also saw that he didn't go near her once." Beth sighed and shifted Judith's weight around a little. "What's our next move going to be?"

"Find a way to get them alone together. Maybe change the watch schedule," Maggie mused, her attention deep in her bowl.

"How can you still be eating cobbler? I finished mine an hour ago," Beth asked, suspicious. "Did you go back for seconds?"

"Just finishing up what Glen left behind," Maggie lied. "Didn't want it to go to waste."

"That's not fair," Beth grouched. "I don't have anyone to mooch off of." She stared pointedly at her sister until Maggie huffed and pushed her bowl over. One handed, Beth dug in.

"Oh God, how can you still be eating," Glen moaned as he approached. "I feel like I'm going to puke."

"Me, too," Rick said, rubbing his own stomach. "That was fun. We're heading for bed." He picked up a sleeping Judith and carried her off.

Maggie looked around and noticed that everyone was dropping their dirty dishes off in the wash bucket and heading to bed. She was really glad it wasn't hers or Glen's night on watch. She was feeling a little overfull herself. That's when she noticed that Daryl and Carol were also missing. "Hey, where's the birthday girl?" Maggie asked.

Glen unzipped his pants a little and sighed in relief. Beth spooned the last of the cobbler in her mouth and giggled. "Daryl offered to help Carol carry all her presents back to the cell," Glen told them. "Helped her up and everything."

"In front of everyone?" Beth asked, amazed. "There's hope for him yet." She picked up the dirty bowl and wished them good night.

Glen burped a little and made a face. "I think I need to go lie down," he said.

"The man of my dreams," Maggie drawled.

* * *

"Thank you for helping me," Carol said as they climbed the stairs together. "I don't know what I'm going to do with all this stuff."

"Last I checked, you're a pack rat," Daryl grinned over his laden arms. "You'll find a place for it. 'Sides, most of it is edible."

"True. You're going to have to help me eat all this," Carol moaned. "I'm going to gain a ton of weight."

When they got to Carol's cell, Daryl carefully dumped the pile he was carrying on the bed. It made an inviting sound.

"I'm serious about you helping me eat all this. It's too much for one person," Carol said, inspecting her loot.

"Deal," Daryl replied, looking at her thoughtfully.

It must have been a full moon, because a beam of pure, white light shone down from the high windows to caress Carol's silver hair. Daryl thought she was even more beautiful that way. His own goddess of the night.

"And I want to thank you for all the presents today," Carol continued, moving to stack the loot into a neat pile on her bedside table. She seemed oblivious to Daryl's musings. "The bath, the boot and these slippers…I love them all. Particularly the slippers. I think they're my favorite."

When Daryl didn't reply, Carol looked up and caught him watching her. He stood just out of the moonlight, bathed in shadow. Carol painfully wished she could see his face.

"Did you hear me?" Carol asked softly, searchingly. "The slippers, they're my favorite."

"Mine, too." Daryl answered from the shadows. His voice was gruff. "Goodnight, Mouse."

Warmth flooded Carol. He had called her Mouse. "Goodnight, Daryl. Thank you."

Just before Daryl left the cell, he hesitated at the door, bathed in moonlight. Carol felt her breath catch. She wanted to call him back and tell him that she was sorry for being mean to him. She wanted to hug and tell him how much he meant to her. She wanted to offer something of herself back.

"Hey Mouse," Daryl asked from the door. "You know I like you, right?"

Tears prickled at her eyes at the words. "Yes, Daryl. I know. I like you too." Carol put as much warmth in her voice as she could. It was true. Very true.

With a nod in the dark, Daryl left to go back to his own cell.

Alone, Carol smiled into the dark as she got ready for bed. Just beyond her walls she could hear Daryl climb into his own bunk. The sound was comforting and familiar. She was very glad he was nearby. She fell asleep to the faint sounds of him getting ready for his own bed.

* * *

When Carol woke up in the morning, the moonlight was replaced by early sunlight. There, on the table next to her bed sat a tin can crowned with a bouquet of freshly picked, yellow Dandelions.

_They were beautiful._

Carol smiled at the spring flowers knowing Daryl had put them there.

_Tbc…_

**AN: It took a while, but we finally got through the party. I think Daryl is going to get a little bolder from here. Were you surprised that he declared himself? Do you think Carol took in the full meaning? **

**I hope you all soaked up the fun from this chapter before 4.15 airs because, holy freakin' cow, this show is going to kill me. I think bad things are going to happen. At least bad things will not be happening here! **

**I hope to hear from all of you. Please drop me a line! Thanks for reading! **

**Surplus Imagination.**


End file.
